


Intitober

by nerdy-flower (baconnegg)



Series: The Shimada Brothers Need Healing [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always and forever amen, Awkward Sex, Baby hanzo and genji content in chapter 2, Bathing/Washing, Butts, Canon disabled characters, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Is Doing Their Best, Family Bonding, First Time, Flirting, Fluff, Frottage, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Hanzo is nice to Hana, Hanzo tries to be a good friend, Human Zenyatta, Hurt/Comfort, I will paddle the tiny canoe Reindatta with all my might, Implied Sexual Content, Inktober, Intimacy, Kinktober, Laughter During Sex, Lingerie, Marriage Proposal, Mild kink discussion in chapter 21, More baby shimadas in chapter 19, Moving On, Multi, Pets, Pre-Relationship, Pride, Shambali Shenanigans, Shimada brothers bonding, Soft lesbian content, Soft spooky content, Sometimes angst, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Tags to be added as chapters upload, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Zenyatta is also a little shit, brothers being brothers, good communication, supporting each other, things get gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-23 10:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 56,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baconnegg/pseuds/nerdy-flower
Summary: Every relationship- family, friends, romantic partners, -has a language, a love, and an intimacy all its own.Thirty-one days of intimacy for Inktober/Kinktober!Day 31: Two married middle-aged dorks celebrate a relaxing Halloween at home.





	1. Sick Day (Genyatta)

Perhaps it was the eustress of moving in together that opened Zenyatta's nearly-impenetrable immune system, or perhaps it was because half of his clients and coworkers had some kind of bug and resistance was ultimately futile. All Zenyatta knows when he wakes up is that he has a fever, his ears feel like they're underwater, and he probably isn't going to work tomorrow. 

An attempted yawn results in a hacking fit that shakes poor Genji off him and brings into focus exactly how weak and inflamed he feels. He cannot help but breathe mindfully, as every breath draws his attention to the rawness of his throat and the wet burn of his lungs. An ibuprofen and a glass of water are quickly pressed into his hands as he clumsily sits up. Genji watches him with bleary eyes, his hair flattened on one side, standing up straight on the other. “Do we own a thermometer?” 

“Yes, in the first aid-” Genji's already leaving, their beloved furball hot on his heels. 

His temperature is an even one-oh-one Fahrenheit, which causes Genji some concern after he checks his phone. Zenyatta has already shucked off the blankets, very much wanting to strip his pajamas but thinking better of it. Genji feeds Chuck to end her meowing and returns with a cool, dampened cloth, sweetly brushing it over Zen's brow, neck, and down his arms while the medicine works. 

“You don't have to stay in here,” Zenyatta creaks out, a shiver running under his hot skin. “I don't want you getting sick as well.” 

“Don't worry, I'm too stupid to catch colds,” Genji grins, offering a box of tissue when Zenyatta's protest sends his nose running. “Besides, Angela always says you're most contagious before you show symptoms, so I'm just going to chug orange juice and let it take its course.” 

“How very-” Zenyatta's coughs cut him off. He can already feel the muscles in his ribs tensing and pulling. Good heavens, he hasn't been properly sick in a decade or more and it's exactly as unpleasant as he remembers. 

Genji throws a coat over his sweatpants and darts out to the pharmacy after asking three times if Zenyatta will be alright while he's gone. Zen languishes into a nap, waking to a tray of chicken noodle soup, steaming ginger and honey tea, a small cup of cookie dough ice cream, and a bottle of foul-smelling cough syrup that Genji pours and measures as though handling a potent chemical. He eats a sandwich and pretends to play on his phone, glancing at him frequently. 

Zenyatta muses, through the fog of a stuffy head, on the bittersweet pleasure of being worried about and looked after. He means to reassure Genji, to tell him to go about his business for the day, surely he has assignments that warrant more attention than his half-asleep, wheezing self. His fever is lowering and there is no need for fear, merely a certain degree of bodily discomfort that will pass with rest and time. 

His boyfriend returns again with a jar of menthol and eucalyptus oil, one of the Shambali's many home remedies from the boxes they had yet to finish unpacking. “Arms up,” he says with a teasing lilt, helping Zenyatta out of his pale blue t-shirt. 

The strong-smelling rub does clear his airways a bit, but more comforting is the exceptional gentleness with which it is applied. Zenyatta fairly melts into the stacked-up pillows, rasping a sigh at the caress of Genji's faintly-callused hands. His laptop plays quietly on the tray balanced at the foot of the bed, a calm and soothing series queued up for him by Genji as soft background noise. The stuffed dragon Genji had cheekily won for him at an arcade is tucked under his arm. He looks up to find those bewitching dark eyes focused, unseeing, his eyebrows furrowed, and realization finally percolates in Zen's mind. 

While he cannot be positive, he's suddenly quite sure that Genji has never had to care for someone ill until now. Being the youngest child of an exceptionally wealthy family whose parents' ends had been early and abrupt, not to mention his lengthy isolation, which manifested as self-imposed silent avoidance even after moving into the monastery. He had been on the receiving end many times, more frequently and with great, justified resentment following his own grievous injuries. Zenyatta had worked around this, giving him the love and attention he needed even when he couldn't yet express thanks or even accept any kindness. 

The heart beneath the devouring rust and knotted scar tissues was one of liquid gold and enormous proportions, immature from confinement, but fluttering to arrhythmia when offered an opportunity. Its pulse palpable in every touch, every reassurance, for something as simple as a head cold. 

“What? Don't you want chin-scratches?” Genji snickers when he holds his hand out towards Chuck, the tabby recoiling in sensory horror. She curls up on Genji's pillow instead, keeping an eye open in case someone might become available to pet her. He smirks, wipes his fingers, and pulls the covers up to the oil sheen on Zenyatta's chest, hands fidgety and the anxious pinch back in his brow. “Is there anything else I can do? You look awful.” 

Zenyatta giggles carefully to avoid triggering another coughing fit. Genji's hands feel cool to the touch when he takes them, intertwining their fingers. “No need, my dear sparrow. You've done enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, Genji, you're so extra when it comes to Zenyatta
> 
> My first attempt at Inktober/Kinktober! (kazoo noise)  
>  This is a great reason to put together a bunch of smaller fics I've had in my head re: this 'verse for a while. If I miss a day I'll try to catch up. Hope you all enjoy it!  
>  NSFW chapters will be marked as such and chapter lengths will vary


	2. Nice, Nice Nights (Shimada Brothers)

A sandwich shop salary supplemented by intermittent online commissions means Hanzo has to save up when he wants to get his brother a decent birthday gift. Their friends are mostly better off than he is and can indulge in bigger treats. He tries to be content with taking his brother to his favourite comic book store-pawn shop combination and letting him pick out whatever he wants within reason. 

The same thing he did last year, but if Genji's annoyed, he doesn't show it. 

“They never have Yoshi's Island for DS,” Genji pouts, squatting down and smudging fingerprints into the glass case. “I'd buy it online, but I'm always afraid the cartridge will be broken and I'll be out money for nothing.” 

“Oh, I beat that one,” Hanzo notes, grimacing when Genji looks excited. “I sold it when my DS stopped working.” 

“Aw, you probably could have- oooh, is that what I think it is?” He pops back up on his forearm crutches and hurries towards the collectibles section. Hanzo follows slowly behind, holding his bag tight to him through the claustrophobic aisles stacked high with carefully-displayed merch. 

Last year, he brought Genji here for lack of knowing his interests well. Now they're talking more of ordinary things, less of the past and what should or shouldn't have been done. It's better, in many ways, though the gap between them feels permanent and impassable. 

“Look, look, look!” Genji waves a plastic bag in his face, containing a vaguely familiar figure with multiple hands, faces, and accessories. “They've got it so cheap because it's out of the box. [I'm pretty sure it's a con exclusive, but I'm not telling them that.]” 

Hanzo snorts, a grin breaking out. “What's it from?” 

Genji scowls, mostly teasing. “You haven't watched it yet? I gave you my Crunchyroll password for a reason.” 

“I've been busy.” 

“That's your answer for everything,” Genji tuts, handing him the bag of plastic parts. “Try relaxing for a change. You know what they say about self-care.” 

“If by they you mean Zen, I do in fact know what they say,” Hanzo turns over the bag and arches an eyebrow at the price. “That is cheap. Get yourself a comic book too, then.” 

“Really? Thanks, Hanzo.” Genji grins, flipping through a bin with rapid fingers and picking out one so fast, Hanzo's sure he was going to buy it himself either way. They check out and pull their tuques back on to guard their ears against the icy wind gusting down the broad street. “I'll let you borrow this one later, I have the first one too and it's really good. I didn't care about this character at all, until this run-” 

Hanzo smiles thinly. Genji tended to splurge more on gifts, and still his excitement seems so genuine for something so small. It's not that he's more responsible, it's that Genji's less afraid. Of what, Hanzo can never quite name. 

They catch a bus and loop over to the east side of town, up to Hana's condo. A big group party isn't possible with everyone's overlapping schedules, but Genji seems happy to make the rounds. Opening Hana's gift while she orders takeaway for the three of them. Her flat is comfortable and spacious, with high ceilings and functional black furniture that seems to clash with her usual neon aesthetic. 

Hanzo ends up in one of the oversized, overly comfortable beanbag chairs, eating tandoori chicken while they watch weird, niche YouTube videos, talking over them and laughing between bites. 

“Which colour do you want, Hanzo?” Hana scoots her own chair closer to him, showing off several bottles of polish while Genji stretches out on the couch, blowing on his freshly painted nails. He wipes his mouth on his handkerchief, considering and picking out a black one dotted with silver glitter. “Pft, how on-brand of you.” 

Hanzo chuckles and gets comfortable, holding out one hand as Genji searches for some movie they've all seen at least twice. “I have an image to keep up, you know.” 

The three of them sink into comfortable silence, Genji's attention fixed on the TV and Hana painting his nails with near-laser precision. He appreciates attention to detail in all things. Hanzo's mind starts to wander, the soft foam of the chair holding his normally-aching joints so comfortably that he lets his eyes shut to enjoy it for a moment, just a moment. 

*** 

Genji bounces in place at the school gate, one of his father's guards standing a polite, silent distance away. As soon as Hanzo steps a toe onto the sidewalk, he's grabbing at his cap. “I wanna wear it, let me! Let me!” 

“Okay!” Hanzo fairly jams it onto his head, the brim sliding over his eyes. “Stop yelling so much. I don't know why you're so excited about a dumb hat.” 

“I think it looks cool,” Genji insists, proudly pushing it up so it sits properly. He takes his big brother's hand, holding tight as they head towards the road that leads them home. “I had to get a shot today. It hurt really bad, the needle was this big!” 

Hanzo smiles, looking incredulous at the distance Genji attempts to demonstrate. “Did you cry?” 

“No!” Genji scowls, bottom lip popping out before his gap-toothed grin returns. “But now I can go to school next year and I'll have my _own_ hat, and my _own_ knapsack, and I'm gonna look _so cool._ ” 

“Well, yeah, but you still have to pass the interview.” Hanzo halts them at a crosswalk, rocking back on his heels as trucks and cars rush past. 

“Oh,” Genji replies, trying to remember what an interview is. He kind of remembers Hanzo being gone for a day, and then when he 'passed' they got to go out for Korean barbecue. “What happens if you don't pass?” 

Hanzo shrugs, self-consciously smoothing out his windblown hair as they pass some older students chatting in a large, loud group. “You go to the dumb kid school, I guess.” 

Genji goes quiet for a block or so, his thoughts going too fast and turning his stomach into a big knot. Their hands stick together despite the autumn chill, and Hanzo notices his scrunched-up face. “What's the matter? Do you need the toilet?” 

Genji shakes his head emphatically, yanking on Hanzo's arm a bit as he tightens his fist with all his tiny might. “Anija, will you still play with me if I have to go to the dumb kid school?” 

Hanzo's face turns owlish with surprise. He tugs Genji along, the guard a few feet behind. “Don't be silly, you're gonna go to my school.” 

Genji flaps his free hand. “But what if I don't pass the inter-thing?” 

“Interview, and don't worry,” Hanzo smiles bright and sunny, the kind that always undoes the knots in Genji's belly. “You'll pass because I'm going to help you.” 

Genji nearly gasps. “Really? You'll help me?” 

“Of course,” Hanzo grins, proud and wide enough to show his own missing top molar, Genji's fist tight in his own. “I have the top marks in my whole grade. If you listen to me, you'll get in for sure.” 

Genji beams, walking faster as they approach the tall gates of their house. He jams his pointer finger in his nose and imagines what being in school will be like, it feels like forever away but maybe if he has Hanzo show him how to count the days, it'll go faster. “Maybe I'll get even smarter than you! What happens if two people get the same marks, do you have to fight for number one?” 

“Of course not,” Hanzo wrinkles his nose and bats his brother's hand away from his face. “You're gonna have to get serious if you wanna pass. Everyone at school will know who you are, you can't keep acting like a baby.” 

Genji frowns up at his rude brother, cheeks puffing out. “Oh yeah? Then how come you still suck your thumb at bedtime?” 

Hanzo's whole face turns scalding pink. “I _don't!_ ” 

“You do too!” Genji spins around, peering up at the tall guard as he opens the gate for them. “Hey, Nakamura-san! Did you know Hanzo sucks his thumb even though Kaa-san told him to stop like a million times?” 

Nakamura snickers irrepressibly into his hand. Hanzo glows red and chases after his giggling brother, already halfway up the walk on short, lightning-fast legs. 

*** 

Hanzo rouses slowly, his consciousness fuzzy and weighed down by the drag of insufficient sleep. He's curled on his side, legs half-drawn up and hoodie pulled up to his chin. A little drool glues his cheek to the surface of the beanbag- 

He sits up immediately, dragging his fist across his mouth. He had fallen asleep at Hana's apartment, in front of both of them. How embarrassing, they must be so- 

He quickly realizes that the room is dark but for the dim menu screen on the television. Genji snores softly, his arms around a throw pillow, while Hana dozes in the nest of the beanbag beside him, only her face visible above a character print blanket. He feels his nails, long done and dry, as Genji's phone goes off to an obnoxious alarm. 

Genji kicks himself up to sitting, smacking the phone until it turns off. Hana sits up, blanket still burritoed around her as she loudly cracks her back. “Oof, I needed that.” 

Genji fumbles for the light, shoving his glasses back on. “Group naps are like, my favourite part of adulthood.” 

“Oh, hands _down,_ ” Hana turns to Hanzo, her eyeliner a little smudged. “Did you sleep okay? You snore worse than Genji.” 

“See?” Genji jabs a hand towards Hanzo, looking a little too boastful. “I told you! Now I have a witness!” 

“Do you need a witness to get a sleep apnea test? Because I think you might have died for a couple seconds.” 

“I've caught him sleeping with his eyes open before.” 

Hana throws her hands up. “And you don't have photo evidence? Weak, dude.” 

Hanzo merely raises his eyebrows at them and struggles to his feet, the soft warmth beckoning him back. Hana hugs them both tight and Genji briefly lifts her off the ground, reminding her not to work so hard. They bid their good-nights and find a bus stop with an actual shelter. “So, what's next on the agenda?” 

“Hm?” Genji pauses in the middle of rubbing his eyes. “I was just gonna make sure you get home okay and then go cuddle Zen. S'kinda late.” 

That his brother would ever call anything before ten p.m. 'late' sends a chill right through Hanzo's soul. “That's not much of a birthday.” 

Genji shrugs amicably. “Such is life when it falls on a weekday.” He plucks his phone from his pocket and taps around on it. “Angela and I are going dancing with whoever else is free on Saturday, that'll be plenty celebration for me.” 

Hanzo breathes out steam in the cold air. “I'll go, I'm on days this week.” 

Genji side-eyes him and shakes his head, smiling. The orange-tinted lights from the closed office behind them cast his profile in harsh shadows. He still looks too thin in the face, but maybe that's simply a matter of age rather than eating habits. “Don't feel obligated. Today was good, I had fun. Didn't you?” 

Hanzo hums agreeably, once again unsure of how to read the man beside him. “I don't, I want to go. You're the one telling me to have more fun.” 

Genji regards him for a long moment, and Hanzo turns his attention to the bus schedule pasted to the glass. His brother finally grins, ruffling his half-undone hair in an exceptionally annoying way. “Okay, sure, but bring McCree so you don't wallflower it all night. I mean it.” 

*** 

Genji wiggles his toes in his pinchy shoes, trying so hard not to fidget, or wreck his new outfit, or put his hands in his pockets. He had asked Hanzo to tell him how his own interview went at least twenty times, always listening intently for new secrets. He tried his best to listen when Kaa-san sat and taught him adding or new words or bits of English. The night before, Hanzo presents him with a shiny white rock, declaring it a good-luck charm. Genji clutched it tight and asked if it meant he can play with the rest of Hanzo's rock collection if he passes. Hanzo narrowed his eyes just like Tou-san, sternly said “No,” and turned the flashlight off, rolling over and telling him to go to sleep. 

Hanzo gives him a thumbs-up from behind their nanny as their parents lead Genji away, and he feels a little less afraid. 

A few weeks later, Kaa-san comes home with an envelope and a big smile. Tou-san is home early that day, and Genji is scooped up between them and told what a good, bright boy he is. Tou-san kisses his forehead and Kaa-san scratches his scalp with her long nails, both of them going on about how big he is because grown-ups always want to say that. He doesn't even mind that Tou-san has to go take care of more Business and they have to wait for Korean BBQ until tomorrow, because that just gives him more time to tell Hanzo. 

“-and I'm gonna take the desk right beside yours, and we're gonna eat lunch together every day, and I'm gonna meet all your friends and-” 

“Genji!” Hanzo holds up his hands and interrupts, having tried to talk for the last five minutes but Genji was too excited to let him. “We won't be in the same class, you'll only see me on the way there and back.” 

Genji's mouth falls wide open. “What?” 

“You're gonna be with the other first graders,” Hanzo says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You'll see me if we're serving lunch I guess, maybe sports day, that's it.” 

“That's not fair!” Genji smacks his palms on the wooden table. “I don't ever get to see you ever, just 'cause you're older? 

“We live in the same house.” Hanzo blinks at him, cheek full of the melon pan Kaa-san made them for snacktime. “And that's how it works, so you better get used to it.” 

Genji flops onto his back with a frustrated yell. “I'm not going anymore! School is stupid!” 

“You have to go,” Hanzo says in his know-it-all voice. “Otherwise you'll end up homeless and living in a trashcan.” 

“I don't care! I like trashcans!” Genji jumps up and storms over to the cupboard, crawling in beside the folded up futon. Tears start rolling once he's safely inside. This whole time, ever since Hanzo started going to school, everyone told him he'd get to go to school with Hanzo when he was six. He'd get to spend the day with him again instead of waiting for him to come back and finish his homework- but it was all a big lie. Everybody always tells him lies because he's little, and it isn't _fair-_

The cupboard door slides open. Hanzo rolls up the sleeves of Ojii-chan's old sweater that he wears on weekends. “Are you ready to come out now?” 

“No!” Genji yells, slamming the door right in his brother's face. He's too mad to do anything except stay in here forever. 

“Okay,” Hanzo says, sounding like a grown-up, even though he's not one. After ten minutes or so, he hears the opening music for Super Mario World. He wipes his nose on the inside of his shirt and reluctantly crawls back out. Hanzo sits cross-legged, eyes glued to the small TV in the corner. Genji forcefully crawls into his lap and sits in silence, hugging his knees. 

“I made it one-player 'cause I thought you'd be mad for longer,” Hanzo says, tapping away on the controller. “But I'll let you play at-” He glances at the clock. “Four-thirty.” 

Genji sniffs wetly, tears burning as frustration washes over him again. “Anija, you know I can't tell time!” 

“Don't worry, I'll watch.” Hanzo reaches over blindly, grabbing the last piece of melon pan and nearly shoving it in Genji's mouth. “Stop crying, okay?” 

Genji takes a big bite to hide his reedy voice. “Okay.” Hanzo gently rests his chin on top of his head as they settle against each other, the colourful characters on the screen drawing them in. With his brother's arms around him, Genji can't move much, but he doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genji's birthday is Feb. 15th but mine is today! /throws confetti/ I've survived a quarter-century, it's pretty cool.  
> My gift to myself is writing baby Hanzo and Genji, because I love them so.  
> The title is a reference to Altered Images' 'Happy Birthday,' because song lyric titles are exactly as pretentious as one-word titles OTL


	3. Flirting (McHanzo)

Hanzo rises unnecessarily early when he's on day shifts, but he's come to take a certain pleasure from quiet mornings alone. Fixing a good breakfast and tea if he doesn't wake up tasting acid in the dark. Lifting weights with whichever album he's most recently had on repeat in his ear. Soaking in the bath while the sun rises and letting the water drain away before lifting himself out. 

He's sitting on the uncomfortably cold toilet seat, shuffling on his prosthetic legs when his phone buzzes loudly on the edge of the sink. 

**JM:** Good morning sugar  <3 have a good day at work, don't let the bastards get ya down xo 

Hanzo snickers, rubbing a towel over his dripping hair and typing out a reply. 

**HS:** You're up early. 

**JM:** Kennel duty, gotta clean up the puddles, feed n walk everybody before the boss gets here 

**JM:** He'll probably find a spot I missed and ride my ass anyway, but that's alright I guess 

**HS:** He doesn't deserve you. 

**JM:** I wish I could be gone and/or go chop his dick off, but yanno, $$$ 

**HS:** Haha, I do know, all too well. 

**JM:** Sorry for complaining first thing. What are you up to this morning, honeybee? 

**HS:** I don't mind. And nothing much, just got out of the shower. 

**JM:** Ooo, wouldn't mind seeing that 

Hanzo almost hears a record scratch in his head. Jesse had relationships here and there, but anything beyond the physical is still new to Hanzo. He knows he's bad at dating, not fluent in any of the unspoken rules that almost everyone mastered as teenagers, and with Jesse such a natural flirt- Is he supposed to say something back or just send a good shot of his chest? He wonders a moment too long, and Jesse decides for him. 

**JM:** Shit, I'm sorry 

**JM:** It was a dumb joke. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, sorry 

**HS:** No, I'm fine. I just 

Hanzo hits send accidentally and hisses a curse, debating how to continue while goosebumps prickle on his skin from the obnoxiously loud fan sucking all the warmth from the bathroom. 

**HS:** I wasn't sure if you actually wanted a picture. Do you? 

**JM:** Oh, well I mean if you want to sure! 

**JM:** Don't feel obligated tho, I was only kidding 

Hanzo decides to act before he can fumble the moment any further. He stands and picks the bathroom door as the least unappealing background. He combs his fingers through his half-dried hair, letting it lay over one shoulder. He quickly ties a towel around his hips, not wanting to go from zero to a hundred too quickly. Though he does let it sit nice and low on his slim hips, showing off the neatly trimmed trail of hair leading below, as well as hiding the scars, plastic, and metal beneath. Like Jesse hasn't seen them already, as though if there's no photo evidence, they don't exist. 

He holds the phone up high and tries not to waste time playing with the angle, resting his hand on his stomach and smiling slightly as he taps the button, getting a decent snapshot of his body and face. Hanzo starts brushing his teeth while waiting for a reply, pretending that it means little to him and ignoring how he grabs the phone when it buzzes again. 

**JM:** Sweet Jesus 

**JM:** Idk what deal you made with the devil but it was worth it, you're so goddamn gorgeous 

**JM:** Thanks for making my day  <3 

Hanzo feels a pleased warmth bloom in his chest, rising up into his cheeks. He chuckles around the foam in his mouth and ignores the clock. The shop is only down the street, like everyone else isn't five minutes late every damn shift. 

**HS:** Alright, your turn. Show me the D. 

**HS:** The dogs. 

**JM:** Haha, can do, darling 

A picture pops in of Jesse kneeling beside an Australian shepherd, pressing their faces together as the dog's tongue peeps out. They must be outside, the morning sun painting Jesse's mussed hair in autumn shades of pale brown. He's grinning wide, a few of his freckles bunching on top of each other. His blue work shirt hangs open at the neck, a little chest hair peeping out. His eyes might be Hanzo's favourite though, forever warm and flecked with gold, thick eyelashes you only really see up close, intense in a way Hanzo finds entrancing rather than off-putting. 

**HS:** Such a handsome boy. 

**HS:** And the dog is cute too, I guess. 

**JM:** Hah, you're a funny one 

**JM:** You wanna grab dinner tonight? 

**HS:** I can't, sorry. Two people have called in sick so I've got another shift four hours after this one. 

**JM:** Jesus, that sucks and is maybe illegal 

Hanzo agrees, complaining about his boss' hiring skills before hauling on his jeans and a clean shirt. He's about to throw his bag together and head out when another message makes him stop. 

**JM:** I finish up at 5, could probably get to your place by 6 if closing goes okay 

**JM:** Maybe I can grab something on the way, hang out a bit before taking you to work? It's cool if you don't wanna, I'd just really like to see you 

Hanzo's happiness swims up to the surface with its twin, guilt. It feels nearly embarrassing to enjoy this, to dawdle around his dull apartment texting his boyfriend. That Jesse would arrange his day just to see him for an hour or two, without so much as the implication of a quickie (they're both equally open about initiating sex, and it is a great gift among their quiet hangups and graceless missteps), that simply spending time with Hanzo is something he misses- it's too easy, and so much more than he deserves. 

**HS:** I'd love to. See you around 6, then? 

**JM:** See you then! Lemme know what you're in the mood for. Take it easy, beautiful xo 

Hanzo touches his phone absentmindedly to his lips, boots still undone while he smiles wide and stupid to no one but himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /whispers/ does this count as a chatfic? oh gosh


	4. Stray (Genji & Shambali bonding)

Genji had been ninety-percent sure Zenyatta was crazy when he invited him to live at the monastery. He expected to last a few days, weeks maybe, and for months afterwards stayed on high alert for other living opportunities that never came. He expected to be deemed some kind of degenerate- not inaccurate-with his bad habits, lack of manners, and incredibly conspicuous gang tattoo running down one arm. He wasn't that stupid, a glance in the mirror revealed his past oozing from every pore, the anger never leaving his sallow eyes. 

The Shambali turned out to be a study in contradictions. They were standard-issue monks in many respects, with their long hours of contemplation, intentional poverty, and relentless pursuit of bettering the world. And yet they were somehow lacking in the ascetic department. Many bore tattoos of their own, souvenirs from a startling variety of former lives, and showed no shame when the ink peeped out from beneath cotton robes. Some were more private, but not self-consciously so, and those that shared shocked Genji with their candidness about what they had and hadn't done. 

Not to say they weren't who they appeared to be. They were harmonious but not in an unsettling way, rarely disagreeing and adhering to their precepts with a dedication Genji could only imagine. One of which was a radical equality that was rather admirable, if initially confusing. All genders shared bedrooms, changed and bathed in front of each other, and in the heat of summer, went about bare-chested in the inner courtyard and long, aircon-less halls. 

Mondatta demurely asked him in private if it made him uncomfortable, assuring him that such feelings were valid and would be respected. Genji immediately answered to the contrary. Partly because he didn't feel right telling people how to live in their own home, and partly because agreeing might imply that he was perving on the kind monks hosting him, which he most definitely wasn't, even though some of them were pretty cute. 

So he stays, and learns, and finds a new normal. He's often up early- or hasn't gone to bed yet, and showers before morning prayers begin. Sita usually finds him there, taking the stall beside his and forever smiling wide, showing off the gap between her front teeth. “Good morning, Genji! Are you coming to the protest today?” 

“Ah, I might,” Genji hisses, rinsing shampoo (one necessary purchase he quietly makes for himself, after belatedly realizing in the first week that of course they wouldn't have any) from his eyes. “Honestly, my knee's been bothering me since last night and won't quit.” 

“Aw, have Bishal look at it,” Sita croons, setting up her phone- an odd yet necessary worldly possession that all the Shambali possess, though some use them more than others -in a speaker crafted from a plastic cup. “It's okay if you can't come, we'll chant with extra spirit for you!” 

“I don't doubt that,” Genji laughs, scrubbing his face with bar of homemade soap. Sita sings along to her music and Genji joins her, belting out R&B breakup tunes far out of both their vocal ranges. Either the showers are well-soundproofed or the Shambali really are that tolerant, because he's yet to hear any complaints about their daily ritual. 

He had spent some months under the assumption that monkhood was a full-time job, but soon realized everyone has an additional role to play in their little microcosm. Bishal's is resident nurse. He's running his immunization clinic in a tent on the front lawn again, blue scrub top oddly mismatched with his flowing orange trousers. 

“Little pinch- there you are.” The burly-built man disposes of the empty steroid shot while Genji shakes out his sore knee, turning back to present him with a plastic-wrapped lollypop. “And here's a treat for being such a brave boy.” 

Genji snorts in annoyance, but pops the sweet in his mouth, as he always does. 

Indeed, simple or small are not descriptors for any of the Shambali's lives. Pema is a dental hygienist who frequently ventures out with a portable chair and an enormous bag of supplies. Jyoti, Mondatta's perpetual shadow, runs the books from a dated laptop and is known to sigh frequently when tax time comes around. Shing can and does build and fix anything big or small, muscles standing out boldly on her slim arms. Nawang stocks the community food hampers with rapid efficiency every Monday by three p.m. Yungchen can soothe any upset child and organizes soccer games, colouring parties, toy drives. Everyone writes letters and petitions against the world's injustices, everyone cooks, everyone cleans the toilets. 

Outsiders are not exempt from usefulness. Reinhardt is, in fact and on paper, Mondatta's bodyguard, not just an oddly charming Renaissance Faire escapee. Torbjörn or Brigitte's mechanical knowledge is summoned when the solar panels break or the single electronic scooter in their possession ceases to rev, but more often they're called for supper along with their large family. 

Maybe growing up around Reinhardt and Torbjörn's endless bickering left the young ones less afraid, but none of them seem put off by Genji's appearance. He spends many Sundays surrounded by a gaggle of blonde and ginger kids, playing along and actually enjoying himself. Even when he has to full-on dive to scoop the littlest one out of the way of a kickball, landing hard on his back and holding the oblivious, drooling toddler overhead while the adults applaud his efforts. 

“Good catch, son!” Reinhardt's laugh booms out, one-handed hoisting Genji to his feet by his belt. It's difficult not to get sucked in. He goes hours without thinking about who he's looking for and then the guilt rushes back in to fill the gaps. 

Genji initially dubs his role as useless freeloader and occasional potato peeler, but that doesn't stand for long. If kindness were warfare, Zenyatta would be a five-star general. Thanks to him, he knows how to function, how to care for himself on even the worst days and give back where he can. He helps and laughs and talks with all members of their odd household. Thanks to him, he's going back to university in the fall, he has a purpose in life, a plan. 

So why does he still wake up feeling so empty he's not a hundred percent sure if he's really here? 

Genji's a big fan of self-diagnosis. At first, he attributes it to exhaustion, but more sleep leaves him feeling worse. Then he attributes it to his jacked-up health, but he gets his pain under control and a slew of gold stars from Angela and no relief from the numbness. He tries working harder, meditating more, spending less time alone. Nothing works. He has every reason to finally feel good and he _can't._

He feels Zenyatta's eye on him and Mondatta's in turn, and knows he needs to resolve it fast. He can't go back to being an ungrateful little bastard again, not after all they've done for him. He needs to get his shit together and keep it together, no matter what. 

One night, he gets dressed and nips out under the pretense of visiting Jesse, who's working a double. A little research had led him to a hook-up spot with an actual gloryhole, of all things. It honestly kind of gross but he doesn't care. He isn't going to get laid if anyone can see his scars and crutches, that's just reality. He steals condoms from the jar in the storage room (who needed them for whom was none of his business, though he had his guesses) and leaves on the next bus. He just wants to feel something, just for a few minutes. It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be enough. 

The bar is grungy and grabby, the bathroom something he hopes the cheap drinks will wipe from his mind. An hour of holding up the graffiti-strewn wall and no one comes in further than the urinals. Not a single one. He's crouched on a grimy tile floor at oh dark-thirty, halfway to sober and nothing to show for it. He notices a cute goodnight text from Zen and almost pitches his already-cracked phone against the wall, dropping his face into his hands instead. What the hell is he _doing?_

He catches the late bus halfway back and walks the rest of the way, glaring at anyone else out this late. _It's the middle of the month, buddy. If you mug me, all you'll end up with is twenty bucks in debt._

Fumbling with his keys, he suddenly feels too drunk to be here. No intoxicants one of the house rules, clear and concise. He'd come back after a beer or two with Jesse and the others before, but this is different. He unlocks the door like a cat burglar and brushes his teeth twice, praying he doesn't get sick during morning meditation. The incense they use smells a bit like death, honestly, but he doesn't want to be rude about it. 

August turns hot and sluggish. School starts in a few weeks, maybe that will snap him out of it, but he doesn't get his hopes up. Weeding and watering their ample vegetable garden takes all the day's energy out of him, and he nods off beneath a tree. Unfortunately for him, shade has this tendency of moving over the course of the day. 

“I've honestly never gotten a sunburn in my life,” Genji reiterates, herded into the kitchen by Ditya's brisk hands. 

“And if you listen to me next time and put some sunscreen on, you'll never have another one.” Ditya shoots a look his way, mighty despite her compact frame. She has to reach on tiptoe for it, but retrieves a half-used jar of aloe vera, gesturing towards a chair in the corner. “Sit, this will take the sting out.” 

“I can put it on myself,” Genji insists, touching a hand to the lobster colour of his lower back and wincing. 

“How? By turning yourself into a pretzel?” Ditya's eyebrow arches beat even Zenyatta's snarkier moments, thick and uncompromising. “That's the last thing you need, sit.” 

Genji obeys, resting his elbows on his knees and clenching his jaw at the cold touch. It walks the line between soothing and too-much, making him twitch. Ditya, to steady him or herself, keeps her dry hand at his neck in between squirting out more gel. For all her scolding, her hands are astonishingly gentle. Light as a feather and so soft, plainly trying to avoid hurting him further even though it's his own fault he ended up like this. Genji's mind wanders off as she tends to him, thoughts distant and fuzzy. The room is quiet but for distant noises from the open window. He catches himself wishing he could stay like this, but doesn't know why. 

As she coats the last of his burn, her hand moves to his scalp and scratches fondly, absentmindedly, a nothing gesture. Something in Genji's chest caves in and though he tries to hold it back, an inhale comes out thick and loud. 

Ditya stills, and Genji, not of his own free will, gives up. He covers his face and sobs as quietly as he can, doubled over and ears burning. He doesn't know why and that only provokes further frustrated tears. The monk makes a sad, consoling noise and comes around to face him. She pulls him into a very careful hug, avoiding his burn and he clings onto her, arms tight around her shoulders. 

There's something really wrong with him. He's surrounded by people almost at all times, everything taken care of, so why does he still feel so fucking _lonely?_

He gets a hold of himself as quickly as he can, pulling away from her shoulder and looking down through soaked lashes. “Sorry, shit, I'm so sorry- I don't know why I did that. I don't-” 

“You must have needed to,” Ditya answers with near-otherworldly compassion. Her black eyes are soft and unguarded when she forces his chin up. She quickly wipes his cheeks with the long end of her top without a second thought, not letting him look away. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you understand? Nothing. All feelings must be felt, whether you enjoy them or not.” 

Genji wants to apologize further, but has learned better than to contradict Mondatta's second-in-command so nods and composes himself instead. Ditya puts the aloe vera away and bustles about in silence, speaking again after several minutes. “I was going to make chatamari for dinner. Can I trust you to cut the onions, or are you better off somewhere else?” 

Genji laughs, though it still sounds raw. “I'm not that bad. I just have bad depth perception.” 

“A likely excuse! Tenzing chops better than you and he's legally blind,” Ditya fires back, a smirk on her face. She passes him a sharpened knife all the same. “We need to make potato salad, too. Where's Nawang with the groceries?” 

“He had to stop at the post office, said he'd be back by five.” Genji chuckles to himself, peeling the skin from the onions. “Actually, he said 'no one escapes the eternal wheel of chores.'” 

“Everyone's a comedian around here, I swear,” Ditya tuts as she roots around in the large fridge. Genji feels relieved. He needed her to be normal with him, and somehow she knew. The thought occurs to him that she would have made a great mom, but when she stops kneading flower to thumb the scar at her septum, he elects not to share it. 

In the evening, the tension in his temples eases and he feels a little lighter. Nowhere near better, but not as hollow as yesterday. The monks cut up a few watermelons and sit on the back veranda to watch the sunset, because that is the sort of thing they like to do in their spare time. Genji once found it pointless, but he actually really likes it. 

Zenyatta sits beside him on the far edge of the porch, both of them politely spitting seeds into the grass. His hand finds its way to Genji's arm, where the sunburn isn't. Simply resting there, with no expectation or demand. Genji inhales the fresh air and lets the warmth prickle into his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shower-singing scene is funnier when you know that Sita's about 4'10" and the biggest tiny lesbian in her postal code (in my head they're singing 'Black Heart' by Stooshe, but please insert your own jams)   
> I love my Shambali headcanons to bits, if that's not obvious


	5. Wake up, Make out (McHanzo)

Hanzo is at least fifteen years too old to set unique ringtones for each contact, but it helps let him know when someone needs him and when memes are getting shared in the groupchat. 

**GS:** Been up for two hours because my body hates itself ＼(￣▽￣)／!! See you in an hourish? 

Hanzo flicks the brightness down so he doesn't disturb Jesse, tapping out a reply and dropping it back on his bedstand. The world is sunny and bustling beyond his curtains, and he wants none of it, rolling back into the warmth of Jesse's body, cuddled so close in his too-small bed. Better than any heating pad or support pillow. He brushes a chapped kiss over his collarbone, feeling the arm thrown over his middle pull subtly closer and smiling. Not completely asleep after all. 

More kisses along a scruffy neck prompt movement, popping stretches that end with Jesse's hand in his hair, genial brown eyes sliding half-open and a little smile curving up. “G'mornin', angel.” 

Hanzo's back arches slightly at the satisfying scratch against his scalp, humming softly until Jesse angles for his lips and he pushes his face away with his palm. “No. Brush your teeth.” 

“Aw, baby, don't be like that.” Jesse chuckles brightly, his voice rasping deeper than normal. His fingers cup the back of Hanzo's neck while his lips trace a path across Hanzo's brow, stopping at each of his eyes, smacking loudly against his cheek and trailing along the fine edge of his jaw. Teeth nip at his earlobe, at his throat he sucks lightly over the faint marks left there. Hanzo feels himself begin to unravel, starting at his fingertips and unwinding down into his core. 

He rolls onto his back and tugs Jesse on top of him, sighing at the pleasant weight and letting his head fall back to encourage the continued attention to the tender skin of his neck. Hanzo's hands stroke along bare shoulders, heat seeping readily into his palms, When Jesse's lips catch just below his chin, he cups the man's jaw and pulls him in for an open, lingering kiss. He wrinkles his nose when they part. “Gross.” 

Jesse snorts, his breath ghosting over Hanzo's lips. “You don't taste a mint, either, honeybee.” 

They laugh quietly together, tugging the covers back up as they kiss again and again. Tongues slip in briefly despite the stale taste. Ending up on their sides again, hands wander lower to trace along sensitive backs and lightly bruised hips and handsome, hairy chests. Hanzo smiles while Jesse pecks the corner of his mouth, reaching up to sweep back shaggy, tangled hair. They both need haircuts, but how he'd enjoyed tugging on it last night as they worked each other over. Hanzo never expected anyone to roll over post-pillowtalk and unironically say “Let's do it again,” and less had he expected to laugh and readily agree. 

He finds himself laughing here too, when Jesse's fingers purposefully dig into the spot beneath his ribs. “Mm, don't-!” He digs in harder, sending Hanzo flailing out and writhing as Jesse half-pins him. The blankets fall away, allowing him to slap a bared asscheek and end the torment, laughing off Jesse's playful grumbles.“I warned you.” 

Jesse mutters something between an endearment and an insult against his temple. Hanzo curls close to his warmth again, Jesse bringing his knees up so he has something to lay his thighs over. He loops both arms around the man like a life preserver, kissing him with slothful indulgence. Mild and satisfying, the play of their lips lulls him halfway off, transported from twinging joints and to-do lists to a soft-spun place he would gladly never leave. 

The author of his bliss reaches over when his alarm goes off, hovering above him for a moment and allowing Hanzo to appreciate the rounds of muscle marked with half-visible scars, faded ink, and spattered freckles that collectively beg him to improve his draftsmanship. Jesse finally hits snooze and drops the dated, clunky phone on the pillow beside them and dips back down. “Ten more minutes.” 

Hanzo fits his mouth to the hollow beneath Jesse's un-pierced ear, immediately drunk on the shaky exhale he earns. “Good.” 

In the kitchen, Hanzo shivers in front of the electric kettle until Jesse sidles up behind him. Sliding a hand under his shirt to affectionately rub over his stomach and repeatedly kiss the crown of his head. Breakfast is quick and simple. Hanzo helps Jesse's leather jacket onto him from behind, pulling him back by the hips and relishing the scent of his neck a moment longer. 

“Take breaks today, alright?” Jesse murmurs, kissing him again as Hanzo leans back against the hallway closet door, fingers hooked in his belt. “Mm, love you so much, Han. I'll call you later.” 

“Okay,” Hanzo hums after a last suck to his bottom lip. He tilts his head up to meet his eyes, not wanting his unfamiliarity with forming the words to be mistaken for insincerity. “I love you, too.” 

Jesse smiles so big and boyish and sweet that Hanzo is gutted by how much he _wants_ and wonders what's become of him. Getting lost in this syrup-eyed, good-smelling man with every look, and feeling renewed by yet another simple whiskery kiss to his forehead. He puts his hair up as he watches Jesse leave, the door clicking shut behind him as he trots up the cement stairs, whistling along to Dusty. 

He's barely rinsed the dishes when there's a three-part knock. Elbow against the door frame with large, extra-whip drink in hand, his eyebrows arched wickedly over his square frames. “Good morning, brother dearest. Jesse says he misses you already.” 

Hanzo blinks, the tea not doing a thing for him and nods at the cup. “You couldn't get me one?” 

“Well I would have, if someone answered the text I sent an hour ago.” He grins, taking an obnoxious, long sip on his straw. “An hour, Hanzo.” 

Hanzo glares, half-closing the door. “Go home, Genji.” 

“Nope, I put on pants for this.” Genji pushes past, messenger bag swinging around his shoulder as he affectionately punches Hanzo in the chest on the way by. “Look at you, making out with your boyfriend and ignoring your responsibilities. I knew someday you would bloom into the thirsty little flower you were always meant to be.” 

Hanzo grunts disagreeably as Genji flings himself onto the couch, completing their so-called 'co-working space' with the crack of his laptop. “You get this just from one missed text? We were eating breakfast, that's all.” 

“You're wearing his sweater.” Genji shoots an incredulous look his way, pushing up his crooked glasses. “And his pants. Hopefully not his underwear, but I'm not here to kinkshame you, I'm here to write my term paper.” 

Hanzo shuffles, not defeated but temporarily withdrawing, to his computer desk beside the sagging sofa. “Has anyone ever told you to fuck all the way off?” 

“You, on multiple occasions.” Genji syncs his phone with the little speaker Hanzo got from last year's Secret Santa, synthpop playing without his assent but he'll let it slide. 

“Right.” Hanzo leans back in his chair, letting Photoshop chug to life. He opens his drawer to root for his tablet pen and finds a mini chocolate bar from the expensive kiosk at the mall, a heart scribbled on the white flap of the wrapper. Whether it was placed there last night or two weeks ago, he has no idea. 

“I'll write ad copy for your website if you proofread my essay?” Genji chimes in following his face-scrubbing, garbled prayer to the dark gods of academia that precedes his every assignment. 

Hanzo smiles, tucking the treat away and opening his reference folder. “Consider it done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickun because Work and Tired, eheh  
> Happy turkey weekend to my fellow Maple folks!


	6. Bachelor Party (Genyatta, McHanzo, + friends bonding)

“Let's get this straight,” Hanzo brings his hands together and rests his chin on his fingertips. “You don't want to go to a casino, but you do want to go see strippers?” 

“Gambling is a tax on the hopes of the poor,” Zenyatta answers plainly, crunching on a half-melted ice cube from his lemonade. “Sex work is a perfectly legitimate profession. There's clearly defined terms for both parties, and you get exactly what you pay for. It's more transparent than most businesses, really.” 

“You're so right,” Genji nods eagerly and shoves his phone towards Hanzo. “See, this one is co-ed and has excellent reviews. I think it'll be a lot of fun!” 

Hanzo glances at his notebook, feeling a headache build in his temples, and not just from the oppressive midsummer heat. “So bachelor party at a strip club, ceremony and reception at a monastery, right.” 

“To be entirely honest, Mondatta probably wouldn't mind going,” Zen smiles mischievously, wiping his face with the wet cloth around his neck. The air conditioning is on in the high-rise flat, just barely. “But he can't even consider it, of course. You can imagine the scandal.” 

“The way you say scandal is so cute.” Genji leans in to peck his fiance's cheek. “You sound like Lena.” 

“You always say that, I don't hear it.” Zenyatta protests but giggles all the same, taking Genji's hand and threading their fingers together. Hanzo isn't sure whether to feel touched or throw up. 

“So what do you say, brother?” Genji grins, much too wide and eager. “You're the one organizing this, are you in?” 

Hanzo looks between the two of them, Zenyatta's ever-tranquil expression and the teasing glee on Genji's face a thin film over genuine excitement, their still-joined hands. He reminds himself that there will at least be alcohol there, and sighs. “Alright, let's do this.” 

Genji whoops, tightly hugging Zenyatta and him in turn, and Hanzo already feels a twinge of regret. 

*** 

The club is in another city, just over an hour away, because of course it is. Jesse and Fareeha act as designated drivers, taking Hanzo, Genji, and Zenyatta, and Angela and Amélie respectively. Miles of boring highway, a stop at a twenty-four hour breakfast place, and one bad parking job later, they're inside. Every surface but the tables and stage seems to be lined with faux-velvet, lit in shades of pink, purple, and blue- perhaps intentionally. It's about the size of their favourite bar back home, busy but not packed, with hallways leading off to private rooms on either side of the impressively-stocked bar. They find a booth in a back corner big enough for all of them and send for a round of shots and ginger ale. 

The lights lower and the show starts, initially just a few women and men clad in skimpy underwear taking to the poles, but as the beat swells their moves turn acrobatic, yet still in sync. The whole place hushes to a sort of stunned silence as they observe the limits of human flexibility and balance. Hanzo can't help but clap along with everyone else when the performance ends. 

Genji half-drags them up to the rack, five-dollar bills that they had shamefully withdrawn from the ATM the day before in hand. The performances don't disappoint on any creative level. A willowy woman does a routine with fire poi that is as frightening as it is erotic. A strapping young man in blue body paint does things with his hips that make Hanzo significantly less hesitant to slip bills into his g-string. A pair of stockings land in Genji and Angela's laps and they look like they might die of excitement. 

They return to the booth, music thrumming as they order another round, formally toasting Genji and Zenyatta's impending matrimony. Some of the performers work the floor, a leather-clad woman with rainbow hair approaching them and noticing Fareeha taking interest, or rather failing at pretending not to take an interest. Angela coaches her out of her seat, the dancer laughing while gently taking her hand. “Go on, love! You need to have fun, too!” 

“Atta girl, 'Ree!” Jesse hollers after her, his laughter rumbling against Hanzo's side as she flips him off behind her back. 

Fareeha returns about one song later, her blush visible despite the dim lighting and the lapels of her dark blue dress rumpled. “That was- a lot.” 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Angela slots neatly against her girlfriend's side and laughs when she merely makes a noise in response, kissing her bare shoulder. 

Fareeha looks less flustered, more soppy, purposefully looking away from Angela's captivating blue eyes. “By the way, how did your job interview go, Amélie?” 

“Pretty well, for once.” Amélie stirs the olives around her martini. “The head teacher is ten years too old to Google me, and it's only part-time for now, but I'll take it. I actually decided to come as a slightly premature celebration.” 

“How wonderful!” Zenyatta chimes in, entirely sober, but cheeks flushed from excitement and the heat of the room. 

“Aw, so you didn't come because you love spending time with me?” Genji pretends to pout, batting his eyelashes at her as his smile sneaks up. 

Amelie smirks over the rim of her glass. “Oh Genji, the only way I could enjoy your company more is if Hanzo had made sure your head got run over as well.” 

The rest of the table visibly freezes while Genji absolutely cackles, Hanzo joining Amelie's subdued laugh as the scotch burns in his throat. His brother jabs a finger in her direction, still grinning. “I knew I liked you for a reason! Let me buy you that drink.” 

A derisive snort. “If you can afford it.” 

“My card gets rejected while buying chips from you _one time-_ ” 

“He's good for it,” Jesse cuts in, softly laughing the awkwardness off while the others sip their drinks. “We're covering his bar tab tonight.” 

“Oh, well in that case-” she nudges Hanzo with one satin-covered elbow. “You owe me.” 

“Of that, I'm well aware.” He smiles, noticing the pinch is gone from her eyes. She isn't one to make a fuss, but he can tell when she's happy. 

“Pardon me, folks.” The pretty firedancer from earlier comes up on Zenyatta's side, resting her palm on the back of the booth. “But we overheard that this was a bachelor party, who's the lucky guy?” 

The woman is tickled pink when Genji and Zen raise their hands, the tassels and bells on her costume jangling as she laughs. “That's adorable! How would you two like to come up on stage for a special performance, hm?” 

“Absolutely!” Genji beams as the dancer winds one of his faded green locks around her finger. He meets Zenyatta's eye intentionally, eagerness paused. “Do you want to?” 

“Certainly, why not?” Zenyatta takes the brakes off his chair and follows Genji, who is practically prancing as the woman leads them through the door marked 'employees only.' 

“Now this, I have to see,” Angela stands, Fareeha snickering and trailing behind her, hand firmly at the small of her back. Amélie follows with the sort of piqued interest she normally reserves for new murder podcast episodes. 

As soon as the music turns bassy and his brother and brother-in-law-to-be are led out onstage, Hanzo turns and tucks himself against Jesse's shoulder. “I'll just be right here if you need me.” 

Jesse laughs, kissing the crown of his head and nursing his soda. “This is a real nice thing you did for your brother, you know that?” 

Hanzo snorts, the light buzz he has going making him that much more appreciative of the warmth of his boyfriend's chest seeping through his soft red shirt. Perhaps he's aged prematurely, but he cannot wait to get home, rip it off of him, put it on himself and crawl into bed between his boyfriend and their dog. “I ought to be thanking you, you're the one stuck driving us home.” 

“Nah, that's not what I mean.” Jesse's hand rubs up and down his arm, so comforting and unabashedly tender. “S'nice to see you two having fun, that's all.” 

Hanzo muses on that, opens his mouth to reply when the crowd suddenly goes wild, the screams piercing his ear. “I shouldn't turn around, should I?” 

Jesse looks over Hanzo and covers his mouth to barely suppress a snort-laugh. “I wouldn't, no.” 

Genji soon struts back to the table, the girls in tow and his crop top balled up in his fist. Hanzo narrows his eyes at his little brother. “What happened to your shirt?” 

“Don't even worry about it,” Genji answers with a faraway grin, letting the others slide into the booth and polishing his smudged glasses before putting it back on. Zen comes a moment behind, a prominent lipstick smear on his cheek. Genji laughs, trying to clean it with a napkin and not doing a very good job. “She could tell you liked her. You and your brother, I swear, you have a such a thing for people who can pick you up with one arm.” 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Zen replies dismissively into his hand, though he isn't hiding his smile very well. 

The night plays on, dancers sweeping and flying across the stage as they order third and fourth rounds. Angela curses when her heel breaks on the way back from the restroom, adding 'find a cobbler' to a to-do list on her phone that one glance reveals to be longer and more ambitious than Hanzo's five-year plan. 

The rainbow-haired girl and a few others take to the stage for some kind of superhero-themed routine and Fareeha groans quietly. “Ugh, I want to go up there, but I'm all out of cash. I don't wanna be rude.” 

“I'm out, too,” Angela withdraws her wallet from her waist pocket to double-check. “Unless they accept half-used gift cards as tips.” 

“Here, I've got some left,” Jesse passes her his remaining bills. “We should probably head out soon, yeah?” 

“Definitely,” Zenyatta yawns, though he still eagerly heads towards the rack, Genji's hand on his shoulder. 

“You're my favourite brother,” Fareeha reaches around the table to affectionately punch Jesse's arm. “Come with us! It's your money, you should help make it rain one last time.” 

“I'm your only brother, unless y'know something I don't!” Jesse laughs, turning to Hanzo when he doesn't move. “Want me to stay, sugar? I don't mind.” 

“No, you go ahead. I'm just tired.” The two share a quick kiss, Jesse promising he can sleep on the drive home before he heads off. 

Angela and Amélie stay, polishing off their drinks and half-watching the show. “I hate to say it, mon ami, but I think you found a good one.” 

“That's high praise from you,” Hanzo snorts, slinging his arm casually over her shoulders. Angela gets them laughing with a story from her lab that leaves out identifiers but includes enough details that the waiters are scared away from their table. Hanzo looks over after the dancers leave to much fanfare from the other patrons, seeing Jesse emerge from the small crowd with Genji under his arm, the pair of them grinning wide and shouting at each other over the music. He still has a bit of a headache, his chequing account is going to make him wince tomorrow, and he feels like the cologne in the air is stuck to him, but he's oddly content. 

Angela's finger prods between his arm and he finds her smiling knowingly. “So, what do you want for your bachelor party?” 

“Hypothetically,” Amélie adds, their expressions much too similar for his liking. 

“Hypothetically, yes, of course.” 

Hanzo smirks, grabs his thin jacket when the others arrive and dodges the questions, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could pretend that I didn't have Pony by Ginuwine on repeat while writing this, but that would be a big lie   
> This is at least the second time I worry I've written Hanzo as prudish when really he's just tired and wants nothing to do with his sweet baby brother's sex life   
> Also I love Pharmercy but I have written them. So. Little!!! (including in this chapter!) I'm going to try writing them soon, they've been in the background of this 'verse for too long, too long I say!


	7. Moral Support (Jesse & Fareeha + Pharmercy)

Fareeha has lived her life in close proximity to fear and learned to face it with preparation. When her mother went away, she'd have Gabe mark the days on the calendar until she was due back. She graduated top of her class before she saw combat herself. When facing an unknown, she read and studied and got to know it intimately before approaching. 

But she's not a machine, she's a person. She contains multitudes. Or so she tells herself when she darts into a washroom before she can reach Angela's office at the university. “Pick up, pick up, pick up-” 

Jesse's voice crackles distantly, he must be wearing his headphones. “Hey, 'Reeha! What's up?” 

“Code red,” she hisses, leaning back against the sink. “I can't do this. I'm such an idiot, I don't know why I thought this would work.” 

“Oh, hon,” Jesse sighs, something clattering in the background. “You're okay. You're not asking her to marry you, it's just a date-” 

“But if she says no, it's going to be so fucking awkward,” Fareeha whinges, running a hand through her neatly-done hair and messing it up. “For everyone! It'll be so weird and I don't want to make her feel weird, or that we can't hang out or whatever.” 

“Our friend group is already bordering on one big polyamorous clusterfuck, you'll be fine. Even if she says no.” Jesse laughs, definitely at her and not with her. “Which I sincerely doubt.” 

“Do you know something I don't?” Fareeha straightens up. “If you've been keeping anything from me, I swear-” 

“Cool it, 'Ree,” Jesse snorts, making more noise with whatever he's doing. “I've just noticed how she gets all goo-goo eyed around ya, everyone has. Plus she spends at least part of every conversation looking at your chest.”

“She does not! And she's not doing that on purpose, it's just because of her height!” Angela is actually on the slightly taller side for a woman, but in bare feet she'd fit right under Fareeha's chin- would she like that? She's probably never been the short one in a relationship- 

“Anyway,” Jesse interrupts her train of thought. “It's Angie- she's not scary, unless ya piss her off but that's a whole other thing.” 

“I know, I know,” Fareeha fidgets, pacing back and forth in the small, tiled space. “I just- I've never been the one to initiate, you know? I feel so clueless.” With good reason. Spotty, lacking, and disappointing are all fitting adjectives for her dating life thus far. 

“I hear ya,” Jesse tuts, stopping what he's doing and bringing the mic closer. “Listen, Angie's not looking at you and seeing that. She's seeing a really sweet girl who's funny and smart and has a lot to offer anybody lucky enough to get with her.” 

Fareeha stops pacing, tightening her arms around herself. Looking at Angela- older, accomplished, drop-dead gorgeous -it's so easy to see every single one of her flaws outlined in bold red. “Thanks, Jesse.” 

“Just tellin' the truth.” She can hear the smile in his deep voice. “Now, go in there and ask her if she does transplants, because you'd like to give her your heart.” 

Fareeha groans in distaste. “That is a hundred percent not how you lesbian.” 

Jesse snorts. “The fuck are you asking me for, then?” 

“Well if I had-” A knock and twist of the doorknob startles her. “Uh- occupied!” 

“What in the-” Jesse pauses, tone going flat. “Are you hiding in the bathroom? How old are you, woman?” 

“It's a single stall!” Fareeha snaps once the poor stranger walks away. “I'm not going to just walk around my crush's workplace yelling about all this!” 

“Goddammit,” Jesse clicks his tongue, like he's Mister Perfect Love Life. “Get out of there, right now. Go talk to Angie and ask her to dinner, or whatever. I don't want to see you in the news because you got arrested for suspicious behaviour.” 

“Since when do you even check the news?” 

“Since I started seeing Hanzo, he reads it every morning while we eat breakfast.” 

“Holy shit, you're so old.” 

“Get. Out. Of the bathroom. _Now, _or are you too chicken to talk to a pretty girl?”__

__Oh, that is the last straw. “We'll see about that, but some help you've been!”_ _

__Jesse just laughs at her and goes back to making heart-shaped cookies for his grumpy-ass boyfriend, or whatever he's doing. “Good luck, 'Reeha!”_ _

__“Thanks, loser.” Fareeha hangs up with a frown, trying to make herself look as normal as possible before finally exiting the washroom._ _

__She actually makes it to the lab this time. Thankfully there's no patients around, just Angie at her desk surrounded by papers and metal parts. She smiles so bright when Fareeha walks in and damn it all, how can one person be that pretty- “I hope I'm not disturbing you, I was just in the neighbourhood and wanted to say hi.”_ _

__A blatant untruth, as she'd driven up and paid for parking on her day off just to try and put the nail in this crush coffin, but Angela simply shuffles some papers away and spins around to face her. Her lab coat is standard doctor fare, but the skirt and shirt underneath are so cute and business-like and hug her figure so well- does she have abs? The top is ever-so-slightly see-through, she might have abs. Fareeha might faint. “You're never disturbing me. I could use a little break, honestly.”_ _

__“You push yourself too hard.” Oh good one, insult her work ethic. Great start, Amari, A-plus effort. “I, uh, brought you a little snack? You like these, right?”_ _

__“Aw, you remembered!” Angela beams and her nose scrunches up and a little part of Fareeha ascends straight to heaven. Filing away Angela's professed love for mini M &M's over regular ones won out. She considered bringing her lunch, but that was a little much. _Please date me, I've already invested thirty dollars into this relationship we don't have?__ _

__They exchange pleasantries while sharing the candy, Fareeha's stomach doing triple backflips but she does her best to ignore it. Doctor Ziegler's too smart for that, though. She tilts her head at one point, lips pursing and drawing attention to how pink and soft they look- no, no, stop that. Not now. “Is something on your mind?”_ _

__“Uh, well-” Moment of truth. Do not fuck this up. Do not fuck this up. Do not- “I was wondering if you maybe- wanted to go out sometime? For- dinner, or something?”_ _

__Disaster. Total failure. Her voice had cracked all over the place and she sounded like a weirdo. Or at best, a thirteen-year-old who's never been on a date before. Why is this so hard forever?_ _

__Angela's smile widens, teeth gleaming in the overwhelming fluorescent light. “Go out as in on a date?” Fareeha can only nod, like an idiot, but her cheeks turn faintly pink. That's so fucking cute. “Oh, I'd love to! When are you free?”_ _

__It takes everything Fareeha has not to hit the ceiling. What's a good answer? “Uh, how about tonight?” Damn it, what part of 'don't come on too strong' does she not understand? Stupid stupid stu-_ _

__“No, I have to work late.” Angela frowns, looking genuinely a little disappointed. Or she's hallucinating that part. “What about tomorrow?”_ _

__“Ah- well, Fridays I have dinner with my mum,” Fareeha's mouth runs like a car stuck in fifth gear. “Not in person, obviously, but like we both make dinner and eat with each other over Skype? I know it's kinda weird, but we've been doing it since I was in college and, uh-”_ _

__“That's so sweet! She must really enjoy that,” Angela's eyes crinkle up at the corners and Fareeha can't quite read her for a second. “What about Saturday?”_ _

__“Saturday, yeah! I'm free Saturday,” Fareeha chirps, scratching her neck as heat prickles up. “I can pick you up- whenever? My car's all fixed so I'm cool to go anywhere.”_ _

__“Sounds good. I'll text you and we'll figure it out from there, maybe?” Angela smiles at another eager nod, touching Fareeha's hand in a way she definitely won't obsess over later alone in her apartment. “I have to get back to work, there's a report due, but- thanks for coming by. This is much nicer than getting asked out by text, yeah?”_ _

__“Oh, yeah! I'm way classier than that,” Fareeha giggles with her, quietly deleting every memory of composing texts she never sent. “See you Saturday, I guess?”_ _

__“See you then,” Angela waves at her as she retreats, tucking some escaped blonde hair back behind her ear. Fareeha politely waves back, strolling out the medical sciences building with overwhelming confidence in every step._ _

__**FA:** JESSE JESSE JESSE _ _

__**FA:** SHE SAID YES HOLY SHIT I HAVE A DATE _ _

__**FA:** GOOD THINGS DO HAPPEN TO MY BIG GAY ASS _ _

__**JM:** Wow it's almost like I told you this would happen, more than once _ _

__**FA:** I'm too happy to get mad at you rn, piss off _ _

__**JM:** Haha, but seriously I'm really proud of you. Angie's gonna get knocked out of the mfing park and she doesn't even know it _ _

__**FA:** Yeah, hard part's over, now I just have to go on this date _ _

__**FA:** And be interesting and not scare her off and make sure my baggage doesn't empty itself over everything good in my life _ _

__**FA:** I lied to myself again, fffffffffffffffff _ _

__**JM:** You're gonna be fine! Angie likes /you/, so just be you but with something sexy on _ _

__**JM:** Gotta show off the assets _ _

__**FA:** Where would I be without your advice _ _

__**JM:** Dunno, dead maybe _ _

__**JM:** Hey does your big gay ass wanna meet up with my big gay ass for pool tonight? Han n Genji might come _ _

__**FA:** Hold on, I have to check with my ass _ _

__**FA:** It's a yes from both of us _ _

__**JM:** Sweet, see you at 7, I like you enough_ _

__**FA:** Like you enough too, Jesse_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha is a gay mess and so am I /kazoo noise/   
> Their ending lines are a Sibling Joke but also something me and my bestie say to each other a lot <3   
> I need to and will write more of these two, and more, more detailed Pharmercy, I love all my sweet babies in this 'verse but the Shimada-McCree-Tekharthas are distracting as hell.


	8. First Time (Genyatta NSFW)

It doesn't fully occur to Genji that he's never dated until the warm summer day that he kisses Zenyatta in the enveloping bloom of the Shambali's gardens. 

He's gone on dates, definitely. Paid for meals and arcade tokens and drinks, even bought gifts and fake IDs if he was feeling generous. But the only person he ever slept with twice was a tourist at a sauna far outside of Hanamura, a handsome college student studying abroad (Aside from an incident in his high school athletics shed, he didn't sleep with local guys. Stupid as he was, he knew he couldn't afford those whispers getting back to the Shimadas). He couldn't even call himself a love-'em-and-leave-'em type, as Jesse would put it, it was about riding one high until he could jump to the next. Didn't matter what it was or who he hurt in the process. 

But Zenyatta, oh, he's loved him for years. Maybe he's been _in_ love all along and he's just been too thick to realize, but he can't imagine not loving him. Zen's reached one of those pretty hands into his chest and changed him for the better, opened his eyes to truth and worth and beauty, comforted him and allowed himself to be comforted in time. Never has he felt so perfectly understood, and more than that, understood someone else so well they scarcely have to talk, but do, for hours and hours and hours. 

Kissing his soft lips feels so right. Nothing and everything has changed. There's no awkwardness, no struggling to read each other, just peace, for both of them. Peace and many, many stolen moments in all corners of the monastery. They're very typical new lovers in that sense, Genji can barely keep his hands to himself and Zen is just as eager and it's _adorable._

Genji knows secondhand that it can take a while for new couples to move things to the bedroom. Since they've been getting to know each other for so long, the only thing delaying them is the necessary preliminaries. 

“Good news!” Genji proclaims, test results from the clinic downtown clasped between his fingers. “I don't have gonnaherpasyphilis.” 

“What a happy coincidence,” Zenyatta giggles, looking up from his little workspace at one end of the dining room table, picking up his own results. “Neither do I.” 

Practicality stays them a little while longer. Genji works closing shifts and Zen is often halfway asleep by the time he gets back. Plus he's still in class, and trying to move out, and take good care of himself despite everything- one thing he does miss about his teenage years, there was seemingly infinite opportunities to drop whatever he was doing for a quickie. 

Maybe there's something to be said for putting effort in, making it special, but they end up in Zenyatta's room- uniquely free of fellow Shambali, and shielded on either side by a storage closet and a washroom, thank you, Zen -one quiet night and Genji keeps getting the green light so he just keeps going. 

Zenyatta's lips taste of tea and too much sugar. They've seen each other shirtless plenty of times, and Genji now knows the incomparable pleasure of holding Zenyatta's slender waist in his hands. His back is so handsome too, broad at the shoulders and Genji discovers he likes kissing up his spine while Zen's pulling his baby blue tank top off. He likes how he shivers. He takes care to avoid the thick surgical scars at the base, too sensitive for touching. 

He really likes his chest too. Firm muscles under russet skin, dark purple inverted nipples that pop out with proper application of his tongue. Bare but for the faintest fuzz without the touch of a razor, it makes him a little envious if he's honest. But he can't think about that when he's memorizing every sigh and pleased hum and goosebump. He wants to get his mouth on every inch of Zenyatta, taste all six feet of his stunning, lithe body. But in the interest of sating the arousal screaming at him from his head and groin, he hooks his fingers into loose, elastic yellow trousers and lifts his head, meeting darkened amber eyes. “Can I take these off?” 

Zenyatta nods, a pretty flush beneath the freckles kissed into his skin by long days in the sun, right down to his chest. “Underwear too, if you'd like. No reason to tease.” 

Genji laughs, soft and muted because their privacy isn't completely soundproof, the door a mere opaque wooden screen. Low rain and nature sounds play from Zenyatta's phone, not Genji's idea of slow jams, but Zen's turned him onto stranger things. “Right you are.” 

They'll do it easy and slow someday, and fast and rough and everything in between. He's never felt such singular desire for someone, a need to take and give until he knows them completely. 

Zenyatta lays back and Genji removes his trousers with a few quick tugs, letting them drop to the floor. The small bedside lamp throws plenty of light as Genji traces his fingers over limber thighs. Zen's calves are thin, marked by a few glancing scars along with his knobby knees. His surgeon must have had the soul of a poet because his suture scars are whisper thin, but there's so many of them. Lining his pelvis and thighs with jagged white, a few leading up onto his belly, just below his cute, shallow navel. Zenyatta had previously noted that his paralysis ends just above his knees, where stockings would sit very nicely, Genji's mind filthily supplies. 

Genji palms all the bared skin, watching for signs of discomfort and finding none in Zen's serene face, so he says what's really on his mind. “Nice dick!” 

Zenyatta barely claps a hand to his mouth in time to muffle his guffaws, rolling halfway on his side. Genji giggles too, but he meant it. It's proportionate with the rest of him, lean with the beginnings of a nice curve as it lays half-hard atop an also unfortunately scarred, but otherwise smooth and tight sac. _It's all over for you, Genji. If you find a guy's balls cute, you're in big trouble._

Zen recovers before he can offer to suck it, pull the thin foreskin carefully back and go to town like he's pictured so many times alone in his cot. He pushes himself up, leaning into Genji's space on one palm and looking so damn good when he bites his lip and reaches for his fly. “May I?” 

Genji tries not to reply too enthusiastically, tugging at his belt (why a belt, why would he do this to himself) only to have his hands very gently pushed away. He sits back, his own breath loud in his ear as Zenyatta very neatly undoes his shorts, lifting his hips so they can be pulled away along with his boxers. He's almost embarrassed by how hard he is already, until a small, satisfied noise puffs out from Zenyatta's throat and lands like a little Cupid's arrow in his chest. “Oh, how lovely.” 

He pulls Zen in then, cupping his jaw and kissing deep and wanting him so, so badly. Zenyatta opens gladly for him, moaning into it and Genji nicely pushes him down. He crawls on top, wrapping his arms around him, still exploring his mouth and gasping when their cocks drag against each other. “Is this- this okay?” 

Zenyatta nods quickly, taking a moment to find his words. “It's- very good. I've wanted to do this for- oh, so long.” 

Genji pauses his assault on Zen's chest and shoulders, coming up to ghost his lips over his forehead, just beside the painted blue dots. Zenyatta's hands are in his hair, tugging kindly and sending electricity across his scalp. “How long?” 

He needs to know- did Zenyatta ache like he did, for months? Work his hand between his thighs at night, hungry for the real thing and feeling ashamed for wanting something that would probably never be his? 

Zen flips them over with such ease that all of Genji's breath leaves him as a gasp. He plants his palms on either side of Genji's head and pushes himself up effortlessly. In the gold-tinted light, Zenyatta seems to glow, as rich and warm as a fire, hovering over his partner with that ever-present, ever-teasing smile and yearning, feverish eyes that pin him in place. The blurriness from Genji's long-gone glasses makes no difference, he now knows what it feels like to be a frog caught in the glare of a snake. 

“Long enough,” Zenyatta answers in a hush, a dimple showing in his cheek. He leans to one side and lifts a hand to Genji's jaw, brushing his knuckles there so soft and slow, as though he were made of the finest silk, the most delicate paper, an artifact to be treated with impeccable care. “Oh, Genji, you are so beautiful.” 

Genji's heart is in his throat, his body unable to move. He's never felt so naked, and it has nothing to do with his discarded clothes or his prosthetic leg leaning against the wall. Zenyatta's eyes always tell the truth, he can trust him that way. And the intensity of their stare means he's not ignoring the marred flesh and swollen stump and uncooperative joints, he means what he's saying. He wants him. 

Zenyatta lowers himself then, capturing his lips in a brief, messy kiss before moving to his neck, collarbones, chest. Mouthing at his tattoo, tracing around his good nipple. Another slide of their hips has Genji bucking up and biting off a groan. “God- please, touch me? I want-” 

Zen shifts, making room so he can slip a hand down and wrap his fingers around Genji's erection. He presses his thumb into the slit, eagerly gathering slick and tracing so lightly around the ridge of the head it's almost ticklish and Genji is holding back a desperate whine. He's not used to this. No matter who he was with before, he was in charge. He was the seducer. His favourite move was to eat a girl out until she came, and then haul her onto his lap and grind against her, pressing his lips to her ear and asking how bad she wanted it, wanted him. 

Now sweet, gentle Zenyatta is sucking on his neck and stroking him while he leaks all over his hand and he can't fucking _think._

“Maybe,” Zen mumbles, more to himself than Genji, and clumsily shuffles them halfway onto their sides. He takes Genji's hand and guides it around both of their cocks, squeezing a little and making them grunt. “Oh- can we, like this?” 

“Yes, yes,” Genji eagerly flicks his wrist up and down, making both of them twitch. “Ow, too dry.” 

“Definitely,” Zenyatta winces, chuckling softly. “I have lube in my nightstand, can you-” 

“On it,” Genji rolls over, flailing a bit when he almost slips off the bed. Regaining a bit of his confidence when he returns with the half-used tube of organic, hypoallergenic lubricant, he waggles his eyebrows at Zen. “What's this for, hm?” 

Zenyatta matches his smirk, still so striking even when he jests. “Wouldn't you like to know?” 

They kiss again, short and repetitive smooches while they slick themselves up. Zenyatta's hand joins his and it's all heat from there. The pulse of his lover's perfect cock against his. The wet, snug ring of their hands that they gradually find a rhythm and fuck into while rutting against each other. Genji's wrist cramps and he does not care. One hand grips Zenyatta's shoulder as he fights not to come, Zenyatta's other hand clutching his ass like it's a prize. 

“That's it, just like that,” Zenyatta pants against his jaw. His voice breaks, rasping high as his breath catches, his cock spilling beautifully over Genji's fist. His whole body seems to press against him, hungry for all the touch he can get. “Oh, Genji, _oh-_ ” 

Genji doesn't need much more than that, falling over the edge as Zenyatta ruts through his aftershocks, painting their stomachs white at a languorous bite to his pulse. He buries his face against Zen's neck, sucking in the clean-sweat scent of him and muffling the noises he can't hold back. He hasn't come like this in forever, shaking all over, his body pulled tight at his core until he forces out enough air to make it relax. He clings limply to Zen as they relax, endorphins caressing every nerve, shoulders jumping up at the tickle of breath over his damp shoulder. 

“Mmm,” Zen offers intelligently, kissing his way across Genji's cheek back to his mouth. “Did you enjoy that, dear one?” 

He laughs drunkenly, kissing the corner of Zen's eye, clasping the back of his neck. “Fuck yeah, I did. Did you?” 

“A resounding hell yes,” Zenyatta giggles irrepressibly and Genji could die, he's so cute. They kiss again, sweet and sticky. “How lucky I am to have you.” 

“In bed?” Genji jokes to hide the flush in his cheeks. Zenyatta laughs softly and sits up to gather tissues, at which point Genji notices the prominent lines on his back and cringes. “I uh, scratched you up good there. Sorry about that.” 

Zenyatta looks over his shoulder, eyes darkening as he smiles coyly back at him. “I shall wear them as stripes of honour. We'll see how many I earn next time.” 

Genji flops onto his back. “Jesus, Zen. Don't say stuff like that unless you're gonna give me twenty minutes and a glass of orange juice.” 

Zenyatta chuckles mischievously, cleaning them with tenderness that makes Genji's chest clench. Thoughts rush up from the too-short silence- that he didn't do enough for Zen, that he came too soon because it's been so long, that Zen might have expected more. But then his- boyfriend, yes, that would definitely apply to them now -hauls himself up the bed and pulls a light sheet over their sweat-slick bodies, curving to Genji's back and sliding an arm underneath him and around his waist. 

Genji hums and reaches back, letting his neck be lazily kissed again and stroking the recently-shaved fuzzy scalp beneath his palm. If Zenyatta thinks he's lucky, he doesn't know the half of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c


	9. Hanzo's Girl Gang Squad (TM)

Either Hanzo is that checked out while restocking the veggie bins, or the slow approach of his inevitable death is damaging his eyesight, but it takes him a solid thirty seconds to recognize Hana with her new haircut. 

“That's quite a change,” Hanzo says, chuckling softly as Hana teases him. “It looks good.” 

“Thanks, it's a little shorter than what I asked for but it'll grow back.” Hana replies, smoothing the now-fluffy back of her head. “Since my contract got retracted, I don't have to worry about changing my appearance anymore.” 

“What?” Hanzo balks, spilling some lettuce into the chicken slot. “I thought you were flying out next week, what happened?” 

“They finally watched my streams, I guess.” Hana shrugs limply, one of her blue romper suspenders slipping off her shoulder as she makes elaborate air-quotes. “They said I'm 'not a good fit for their family-friendly branding,' so they're going to put the project in development hell until they find someone else. Great idea, right?” 

“That's bullshit,” Hanzo scowls, throwing out his plastic gloves and getting started on Hana's favourite drink. “What do they care about your streams? You're playing a character for them, there's no connection.” 

“Well yeah, but if kids look me up and learn some things, parents will call and complain, blah blah PR, blah blah, whatever.” Hana shakes her head, raising her subdued voice over the blender. “I don't even care. Now my summer's open and I can spend it however I want. I have a whole new idea that's gonna be way better and way more accessible. No paywall, just me, my camera, a rental van, and so much pizza. Lúcio's already in on it.” 

“Colour me intrigued,” Hanzo offers her a smile as he squirts as much whipped topping as the cup can handle, coating it with an mountain of sprinkles. “You don't need them, anyway. They needed you, and they blew it.” 

“Damn straight they did,” Hana flashes a grin at him, taking the drink once he manages to close the lid. She takes a long sip and sighs happily. “Oh yeah, that's the ticket.” 

“No charge,” Hanzo smiles when she pulls out her wallet. “The owner hasn't done inventory in weeks, he'll never know.” 

Hana's smile brightens and she drops the bill in his tip jar instead, walking away to one of the single tables by the window before he can argue. He goes on serving a group of customers who shuffled in after her, but doesn't miss her slumped posture. Half-looking out the window and half-blankly scrolling through her phone as she drains the unnaturally sweet frappuchino with a sullen expression. 

She is a good actress, but Hanzo hasn't forgotten how excited she was about the film, whispering perhaps more than she was legally allowed to about what the script. Hana works harder than anyone he knows, is willing to put in eighteen-hour days for projects she believed in, all while attending university part-time. And a studio had dropped her for what? Because she curses and makes jokes? Hana is young, sure, but she's still an adult and is entitled to an adult's life. To tie her solely to her precocious image is needlessly cruel and reductive. 

Hanzo slips his phone out from under the cash register once he rings everyone up, tapping out a quick message in one of his groupchats. 

**HS:** Hey, is it okay if Hana joins us? She's had a bad day and I think she could use the company. 

**SV:** Sure, not a problem. 

**AL:** Which one's Hana again? 

**HS:** Genji's classmate, she does those let's play things. 

**AL:** Oh the pink one. Yeah, she's cool. 

Hanzo's coworker comes to relieve him and he gratefully strips off his apron. He shrugs his bag onto one shoulder and stops at Hana's table on the way out, jabbing a thumb towards the door. “Amélie, Satya, and I are going the cinema to watch weird arthouse movies, do you want to come?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure!” Hana hurriedly saves and closes whatever she's typing on her tablet, shoving it into her scarlet purse of seemingly infinite depth. “You want a lift?” 

Hanzo, in another moment of myopia, was not aware Hana owned a car. Much less a fully electric, fresh off the line, silver number with leather seats. “I can only charge it at that weird mall up by the highway and Brigitte hates it 'cause she has to scrunch her knees up, but it's the perfect size for me.” 

“You really didn't need that contract,” Hanzo murmurs as the car whirrs to life and they pull towards the west side of town. “Why do you even bother with school?” 

“Back-up plan, Dad kinda insisted on it.” Hana gestures, blindly grabbing for her white shades in the centre console. “He said he didn't want me to end up a forty-year-old has-been paying my rent with royalties from an album I never should have recorded.” 

Hanzo snorts, slipping on his own sunglasses. The midday sun blanches everything in its unforgiving path, but the car is pleasantly cool. “That's a very specific concern.”

“Hey, he's not wrong,” Hana giggles, sticking her tongue out as she navigates a left turn. “Please don't hit me, thaaaanks- I'm going to flame out eventually, we all will, it's just a matter of when. I've got all my Internet money tied up in investments so I can keep making cool stuff with whoever sticks around after the bubble bursts.” 

Hanzo studies her out of the corner of his eye, her posture completely relaxed. “How- very pragmatic of you.” 

Hana's grin turns bright and shiny, throwing up a cute hand sign. “You know me, serious as always!” 

They park in the expansive lot betwixt the cinema, several restaurants, and the recently-renovated good mall, meeting Satya and Amélie in the lobby. They split on a jumbo bag of popcorn and grab more-water-than-soda drinks even though they all have illicit snacks in their bags. The smallest theatre is all theirs, letting them lean back and put their feet on the seats in front of them. Hana fairly disappears beneath the blanket of Hanzo's zip-up hoodie once she stops shivering, only her hair and plastic straw visible as they watch the anthology of animated shorts, as quirky and auteur as they are low-budget, in companionable silence. 

They loll about outside on the concrete stairs, debating style and substance while they warm up. Deciding to get some actual food since it's getting late, they regrettably venture into the mall. Genji isn't at his reception desk post in the salon near the entrance, and the place is packed with bawling children and teenagers who have zero respect for the fact that other people are people.

Satya's arm tightens across her chest, hand fastening to her bionic elbow. “This is why I don't come here.” 

“I promise the destination is worth the journey,” Hana reassures, sounding a little uncomfortable herself. Hanzo tries to walk on the outside and shoulder the crowd a bit, but his skin is starting to crawl. 

They finally pop into a little sushi restaurant. The decor is simple, the staff kind, and the drinks in the cooler only a dollar. The taste does not disappoint, either. Hanzo eats happily and worries he may prefer this to the full-service place in his end of town. Conversation veers from the films to work, as it always does because their lives are that sort of predictable. 

“Wait,” Satya politely interrupts, gesturing with her chopsticks. “You mean to tell me that you have employees?” 

“Well Dae-hyun's a friend, but he earns every dime, he's a total editing pro.” Hana pauses chewing eagerly. “Plus my manager, and I have mods who handle the death threats and gross pervy stuff in the chats, they're cool people.” 

“That's still happening?” Hanzo grimaces, clearing a rice grain from his throat with a wash of carbonated sugar. “What the hell is this world coming to?” 

“I know, right? I thought coming out as ace would slow it down at least but-” Hana fake-laughs perhaps two seconds too long not to reveal how upset she truly is. “Nope.” 

Satya tuts and wrinkles her nose. “How disgusting. Give some people a keyboard and they become animals at the slightest provocation.” 

“What's ace again?” Amelie raises an eyebrow, accepting the extra rolls Hanzo drops onto her dish. 

“Asexual,” Satya helpfully supplies. 

“A.K.A. a potato, basically not even worth considering if you're literally anyone I'm interested in.” Hana drops her head onto the table with a dramatic sigh. 

Hanzo comfortingly pats her shoulder. “Men are trash.” 

“I'm biromantic!” 

“People are trash,” Amélie amends. 

“But you'll find someone suitable for you, eventually. You just have to keep looking,” Satya adds reassuringly, side-eyeing her friends who are not the slightest bit chastised. “Hanzo was quite pathetic before he ended up with Jesse. If he can overcome that, you have no need to worry.” 

Hana perks up instantly. “Pathetic how?” 

“Satya, please-” Hanzo is cut off by Amélie force-feeding him a crab roll. 

The sharply-dressed woman smiles knowingly. “Well, when they were first dating, he came straight to apartment from Jesse's, flung himself onto my couch, and said, and I quote, 'He tried to feed me cake off his fork and I was so tired that I grabbed the hunk of cake and shoved it into my mouth.'” 

The entire table, save Hanzo, cracks up loud enough to make the women behind the counter whisper to each other. He feels his face burn and chugs his drink. “You know, I never mock your love lives. Would you like me to start?” 

“Mine is rechargeable,” Satya answers lowly with an eyebrow flicked up. “There's nothing to mock.” 

“Wall-powered,” Amélie adds, picking out a vegetable she hates with her pointed nailed. “Plus, trying to make peace with my life choices is fucking me harder than any man ever could.” 

“Wow,” Hana loudly drains the last of her marble soda. “Anyway, Satya, if you want I can put you in touch with my manager, she's bomb at improving SEO. I love the designs you post, but you need more eyeballs on them if you want the attention you so richly deserve.” 

“'Richly deserve,'” Amélie mimes. “Cute.” 

“You're serious,” Satya says, slightly taken aback. Her architecture firm had started off as a one-legged school when she lost Vishkar's backing, but she's nothing if not relentless. “That wasn't my intent earlier. I'm not so- I was genuinely interested.” 

“Pft, I know! I just really like helping people. Even when they turn me down-” She makes direct eye contact with Hanzo. “Like, at least fifty times?” 

“Aw, is someone yelling at the kids to get off his lawn again?” Amélie asks, absentmindedly checking her phone while Satya narrows her eyes in confusion. 

“I just-” Hanzo pulls his lips thin, minding his tone. “I don't see the point? I'm not even good at video games.” 

“So I can plug your art, you big dumb,” Hana retorts, almost taunting. “Come on one time- a daytime stream, even -and I guarantee you'll get a ton of new requests.” 

“It wouldn't hurt, I'm sure,” Satya says in that convincing, thoughtful tone that Hanzo has fallen prey to more than once, unconsciously toying with her earrings. “I'd hate to see your skills go to waste.” 

“It could make you a few more zeroes, at least. One of us has to crawl out of that hellhole somehow.” 

Hanzo sighs, a mix of semi-playfully annoyed and some other emotion that feels oddly too hot to touch. “When did this become some kind of picking-on-Hanzo society?” 

“It's always been that,” Amélie smirks, elastic in her mouth as she redoes her ponytail. “Hana just passed her initiation.” 

“Congratulations,” Satya smiles and demurely shakes her hand, gathering her things when the fifteen-minutes-to-closing announcement comes on. 

“Sweet! We should make jackets,” Hana hops up, clearing away her tray and popping her ballcap back on. “Anything of yours that could use the D.Va bump, Amélie?” 

“Not yet.” The tall woman smiles slightly. Hanzo detects a note of abiding ambition in his friend's voice. “But now that I've stopped day-drinking, it won't be long.” 

“You have?” Hanzo pretends to scoff. “But I'll have no one to drown my sorrows with.” 

“C'est la vie.” 

“La vie,” Hana chimes in. 

“You're out of the society.” 

“But I have a car! And dirt on the bouquet incident! Like, screenshots from the family groupchat dirt.” 

“You're back in,” Satya interjects. Hanzo grumbles quietly and she touches his arm with an amused smile. “How are you and Jesse related again?” 

“We're technically adopted stepsiblings by common-law marriage.” 

Amélie and Satya nod after a second, eyes distant. “Right.” 

They bid their goodbyes in the parking lot, Hana insisting on driving Hanzo home with Lúcio's newest tracks humming through the surround speakers. “Tell Jesse I say hi and that I'm not sorry for embarrassing him.” 

“He's at work, but I will.” Hanzo's lips curl up. “At the risk of sounding paternalistic, please text me when you get home so I know there isn't a crazed stalker waiting in your apartment.” 

Hana raises her eyebrows at him, incredulous, one hand loosely on the steering wheel. “And if there is, what do you plan to do?” 

“Track you down and murder them in such a way it looks like an accident, obviously.” 

Hana snort-laughs which, among many things, reminds him of a much younger Genji. He's rather surprised when she pulls him in for a one-armed hug. “Thanks, Hanzo. I needed this.” 

Hanzo's smile turns fond and he lightly hugs her back. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense, I owe my Francophone friends for that pun.


	10. Pets (Hanzo & Den, Genji & Chuck)

Hanzo wipes the trickle of blood from his knuckles on his jeans, not caring as he wheezes, lungs aching from the air getting knocked out of them. 

He was in the middle of doing a deep clean of the entire house when he slipped on a still-wet patch of the kitchen floor and fell, hard. His wrist is throbbing and swelling and he's probably going to bruise in a couple places. One of his legs made a concerning noise when he hit the floor. A potentially expensive, long-term fix sort of noise. The kind that might mean he has to go on crutches or borrow a wheelchair. 

But his wrist is a bigger problem. If his hands don't work, he can't work. Maybe modified duties at the print shop, but that will make trouble for everyone and it's his goddamn fault. Why couldn't he catch himself? He learned how to fall properly so many times on the mats as a young boy, what the hell happened to muscle memory? 

If his wrist is hurt, he can't draw. Business was doing well and now it would go to shit. His clients would move on to someone else and why is he such an idiot? One accident, one stupid fucking accident, just the universe reminding him that he's so fragile he couldn't live alone if he needed to. If he needs a chair _and_ his wrist is busted, he'll need help with bathing, dressing, and - it'll be just like the hospital again except Jesse will be the one helping and he doesn't want to ask him to do that. He doesn't want their relationship to ever have to involve that but Jesse will agree readily and be so nice and he won't- 

Hanzo punches the wooden cupboards again, hard, with his good hand. Because might as well fuck up both arms, right? He curls into himself, leaning heavily against the white boards and dragging his knees up. He hurts all over and is frustrated past the point of even cursing. His nails on his bleeding hand bite into his palm, his wrist throbbing where it lays carefully against his chest. He hates this, hates this, hates this. Hates that he can't avoid being the kind of person who has to rely on others so much that- 

Something soft is dropped on his shoulder. A plush, well-chewed duck. Above it is a black snout and a pair of vacant blue eyes. Den ruffs softly, licking his cheeks gently as if he knows he's in pain. 

Hanzo breaks then, sobbing alone on the kitchen floor, surrounded by dropped cleaning supplies. Den licks all his tears away, whining when Hanzo hugs him tight with his unhurt arm. He doesn't move or get distracted, just sits and lets Hanzo hold onto his furry bulk (he's a little chubby, their friends give him far too many treats) and snorting out little breaths. 

“You're such a good boy.” Hanzo chuckles wetly when Den's tail eagerly wags, the rest of him so patiently still. Dogs are the most innocent creatures on Earth. Eager to love and completely ignorant of their human's flaws, no matter how undeserving- 

Den keens then, almost urgent, though he still laps away Hanzo's fresh wave of tears. He sniffs Hanzo's wrist from a distance as he rotates it with a pained grunt. Not broken, but very sprained. He could wrap it and wait it out, but that will worry him more and he doesn't- 

Hanzo sighs, looking at Den who sits back on his haunches, nervously licking his nose. “I think we have to call Jesse at work.” 

Den does the head-tilt thing, and Hanzo laughs despite everything. Very, very carefully, he one-handed pulls himself up on the counter. He tries to shoo Den away, afraid to fall on him, but the mutt disobeys and paces a circle around him. His leg isn't wrecked and can bear weight, but something feels wrong and he's not interested in chancing it. He slowly inches into the living room, dropping uncomfortably onto the couch for the relief of not feeling so off-balance. 

Den crawls right into his lap, laying his warm head on his stomach and peering up at Hanzo as he breathes, calming himself before he picks up his phone. Hanzo scratches behind his ears and his tail thumps contentedly against the sofa. “Good boy.” 

*** 

Genji is something of a cat person, but he will admit his primary motivation in taking Zenyatta to the animal shelter is for the absolutely delighted and beyond adorable sight of his boyfriend with a sweet little kitten cuddled to his cheek. The tiny furball is a grey tabby sweetheart who is worth every penny. 

He slightly retracts that thought when she wrecks an entire roll of toilet paper, knocks a glass off the counter, and chews through several important cables. Spritzing her with a water bottle incites one of his and Zen's rare legitimate arguments, as he finds it cruel and Genji answers that he's overreacting. Poor choice of words on his part, and it turned out they were actually arguing about other things, as is always the case with stupid fights over stupid things. 

But it's hard to stay mad at the kitten when he brings her home from the vet after her spay. She spends the bus ride back miaowing and stumbling around her little carrier like she's drunk. It would be hilarious if it wasn't so pathetic. 

“Tadaima,” Zenyatta calls out after shutting the door, rolling into the living room with a contented sigh. “Where's Chuck?” 

“Gharamā svāgata cha,” Genji answers and unzips his hoodie, revealing her fast asleep on his chest, her tiny needle claws hooked into his t-shirt. “She's been purring non-stop, can they really not give her any pain meds? I feel so guilty.” 

Zenyatta shakes his head, coming over for a brief smooch. “She could jump around and tear her internal stitches. I know it's sad, but it's for the best. She'll be fine.” He reaches out to scratch the kitten under her chin, glancing at Genji's conspicuously blank Word document. “How's the assignment coming?” 

“Eh, could be better,” Genji scrunches his nose to shift his glasses. “I know they said she wouldn't have much of an appetite, but I tried feeding her earlier and she ate some. That's a positive sign, right?” 

“I'm sure. She's just feeling a little lethargic today, hm?” Zenyatta strokes her cotton-soft fur, avoided the shaved patch and the seemingly too-big stitches. He notices the dish on the coffee table, sliced turkey breast diced up with little bite marks in one chunk. “Is this from the Dutch deli?” 

“Yeah, I got some of those little cheeses you like, too.” Genji grins as the kitten rouses and kisses her head while she stares at him with bleary, almost hungover eyes. “Only the best for Princess Charlotte of Fluff after her terrible ordeal at the scary needle place.” 

Zenyatta chuckles warmly, watching the two as Chuck wriggles up to Genji's neck. She has a peculiar interest in licking his facial hair when it grows in. Genji indulges it today, nuzzling his cheek to her tiny fluffy body, so pleased that she's perking up. “You'll make such a good father someday.” 

Genji's eyes pop wide open, staring up at Zen and his terribly fond smile. “Uh- you mean it?” 

“Of course.” Zenyatta snickers when Genji takes a tiny paw to the mouth. His hand slides up to touch his neck, looking hesitant, a rare expression on him. “There's little point in wasting time on hypotheticals, but ah- I likely wouldn't have moved in with you if I didn't think so.” 

“Ah,” Genji nods slowly, carefully picking up Chuck in one hand and bringing her back down to his chest when she tries to climb up the pillows. He boops her wet grey nose and thinks a moment. “Again, no point in hypotheticals, but if our kid ever needed surgery I'd be a fucking wreck.” 

“Actually, I think you'd have more strength than you give yourself credit for. But I think we'd both be somewhat overwrought, to say the least.” Zenyatta kisses Chuck's head, laughing when she stretches and goes back to sleep. “Oh, big yawn! Poor dear's had a long day.” He leans in and kisses Genji's brow as well, eyes softening. “Would the charge nurse like some leftovers for dinner?” 

“Yes, please, so long as furry brats are permitted at the table.” He tugs on her paw, playing with her toe beans. Zenyatta laughs and heads into the kitchen while Genji continues ignoring his homework, admiring the sweet bundle of warmth on his chest and feeling grateful that their lives are still low-stakes, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuck's name is a Pushing Daisies reference if that's not super obvious already;; It's the only show Genji and Zen have watched together all the way through, twice <3


	11. Lesbian Shower Scene Not Clickbait (Pharmercy NSFWish)

Fareeha is sprawled on the couch, playing a dumb game on her phone while her hair mask sets, when her girlfriend comes and deposits herself atop her with a a little sigh. She gets Angela's attention, using the sign language she's gradually acquired from Bastion. “Estrogen in mouth, can't talk. What's wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Angela chuckles, her voice raspy from a midday nap after an early morning work emergency. She settles her head on Fareeha's shoulder, loosely squeezing her waist. “I woke up missing you, even though you are here. I need more cuddle time, I guess.” 

That is something Fareeha is more than happy to provide, pulling Angela close and nuzzling her gently. Once she's able to speak, she kisses her forehead. “I'll just go wash this out and be right back.” 

“Actually, do you mind some company?” Angela lifts her head with a cheeky smile. “I'm not ready to let you go just yet.” 

Fareeha's mind flatlines for a second before she's able to answer. “Oh- sure! I mean, it's your house. You can do whatever you want-” 

Angela hushes her with a peck on the lips, smirking faintly. “You're so cute when you flustered.” 

“I'm not flustered, what are you talking about?” Fareeha says, half-joking and half-convincing herself. Angela just laughs, kisses her neck, and she accepts her loss gracefully. 

They kick their clothes off in Angela's exposed wood and faded white tile bathroom. The shower is a dated pale pink and she keeps saying she'll renovate, but it reminds Fareeha of the cottage Gabe had rented a few times in an attempt to temporarily close the geographic gap between their family units. Fareeha heartily scratches her freed chest and runs the water good and hot, humming as she steps under the spray. 

She takes Angela's slim hand and leads her in unnecessarily, closing the curtain behind them. Their soft skin sticks together as the water sluices over them, adding a tapwater taste to their kiss. Angela reaches up and threads her fingers through Fareeha's goopy hair with a grin. “I'll wash yours if you wash mine.” 

“Deal,” Fareeha breathes, practically in another galaxy from the scratch of Angela's knowing hands across her scalp. She tips her head forward to let the mask rinse away, eyes shutting and hands fast on Angela's waist. She's so fit and buff beneath her cute outfits and scarred, perfect skin. She can throw Fareeha around no problem and open any jar and it's honestly the biggest fucking turn-on. 

Angela Ziegler is so strong in every single way, in ways Fareeha's never managed to be, but that is it's own problem. Everyone counts on her, everyone expects her to be strong and caring and unfailing and- well, Fareeha knows the strain of others' expectations all too well. Once Angela sweeps her wet hair back, Fareeha blinks her eyes open and smooches her cute nose, pulling her even closer. “Your turn.” 

Angela fairly melts, leaning heavy against Fareeha as she works shampoo into her hair, purple bubbles lathering up. Fareeha tries to focus on the task at hand, not get distracted by the way their bodies fit together so, so nicely. Harder to do when Angela is very casually groping her ass. “Hey, I'm not a piece of meat, you know.” 

Angela giggles against her shoulder. “But you would be the finest, most expensive tenderloin if you were.” 

“I can't deal with you.” Fareeha chuckles, encouraging Angela under the water, watching in mild amazement as she looks so completely stunning while simply rinsing her hair. Skin flushed pleasant pink, lather tricking over her brawny shoulders and catching in the divots of her chest and hips. Fareeha dumbly offers a washcloth so she can wipe her eyes and is rewarded with a still tired, yet gorgeous smile. 

“We should scrub up before the water gets cold,” Angela reaches up to kiss her cheek, grabbing the bottle of body wash. Fareeha takes the lead and and squirts some into her hand, cupping Angela's perfect breasts and washing them with gentle enthusiasm. Her girlfriend hums, eyes falling shut as she slings her arms around Fareeha's neck, the sloped softness in her palms prickling up from the attention. 

Damn, she loves boobs. Her own, others, but Angela's best of all. 

Angela startles on a laugh when Fareeha's hands ghost down her sides and up into her fuzzy armpits. She grabs the body wash in defiance, lathering up her own hands with the apple-scented soap. “Now you.” 

Fareeha sucks in a breath when Angela's thumbs graze her nipples. Her chest is so sensitive that only the thickest of sports bras will prevent her from getting awkwardly aroused when a filing cabinet drawer bumps her the wrong way. Angela's well aware of this too, has taken her apart just by working at her breasts. Her hands are small, but they're so good at squeezing and pinching- 

This time, Angela just pushes them together and dives in to blow an enormous raspberry in her cleavage. 

Fareeha outright squeals, laughing even as she slips and has to catch herself hard against the wall. Angela frowns then, holding her hips with such care. “Are you okay? I didn't mean to scare you that bad.” Fareeha's reassurances don't convince her, her lips curling to one side as she rubs her thigh. “I notice you've been favouring this leg. Is your knee bothering you again?” 

Fareeha shakes her head, impressed at Angela's powers of observation. “It doesn't hurt except on bad days. I'm more over-cautious of it, I guess? I spent so long being careful that I just automatically hitch it up without realizing.” 

Angela's face lightens and she nods, kissing the corner of her mouth. “You'll tell me if it starts acting up, won't you?” 

She sighs fondly, kissing a pale blonde eyebrow. “Yes, Dr. Ziegler.” 

They finish washing and exit the shower, shivering in the cool air as they towel themselves off. “Hey, weird question, but how does hair end up in your buttcrack like every day? My head is pretty far away from my ass and I wear underwear most of the time, so like- how? And also why?” 

“I've wondered that my whole life and I have no idea,” Angela snorts while wrapping up her head in a towel. “You think it would get caught on your bra hooks first.” 

“Some mysteries of the human body aren't meant to be understood, I guess.” Fareeha feigns a sigh and laughs, slipping on the plush blue bathrobe that Angela gave her for Christmas, but has ended up staying at Angela's house. Maybe this year she could do the same, maybe she'll bring it up, in a couple months, yeah. 

Angela pops open a bottle of red wine and plops down in the loveseat beside the fireplace while Fareeha. It's not on, but it still makes for quite a sight as she shakes her hair loose. Fareeha sits beside her and gently touches her shoulder. “Hey, can I um, brush your hair?” 

It's a weird request, but Angela doesn't even laugh, gladly handing her the brush and lounging between her legs. Wine glass in hand and her own matching white robe falling open at her neck. _Yesssssssss._

Angela's wet hair parts easily, but Fareeha goes slow. Giving every lock special attention as her girlfriend slowly, fully relaxes. She's careful not to scrape the bristles across her neck, following every pass of the brush with her own hand. Her hair is so soft and light and smells so good. Angela's body is a line of warmth and comfort against her. When she turns and looks up with half-dazed eyes, Fareeha falls for her all over again. 

“I love you,” Angela murmurs, the words muffled by their kiss. 

“I love you, too.” Fareeha feels her face heat again, because she's a big dumb idiot who's about eight years behind the eightball on adult relationships. 

“I have something for you,” Angela crawls, disappointingly, out of Fareeha's arms and grabs something off the side-table. “Close your eyes and tell me what this smells like.” 

Fareeha is confused but obeys, getting a strong whiff of coffee beneath her nose despite the lack of heat. “Uh, a cappuccino?” 

“Cappuccino _lotion,_ ” Angela grins and shows off the jar. “I grabbed lunch with Genji and a salesgirl suckered me in. Isn't it great?” 

“Yeah, I wanna drink it,” Fareeha smiles, then stalls when Angela sits back and pulls her legs over her lap. “Oh wait- I was, well I though was going to keep pampering you? You're the one who's tired, you don't have to like, pay me back or anything-” 

Angela's smiles grows amused, she shakes her head faintly. “I enjoy taking care of you, you're the only one I actually miss looking after when you're gone.” 

Fareeha's tongue brushes the roof of her mouth, looking for a response. All she can come up with is “Well- as long as you don't mind.” 

“Of course not.” Angela scoops some lotion out and starts deftly massaging it into Fareeha's calves. She fights with herself and tries to use the techniques her therapist taught her to not focus on how big her feet are or how she hasn't shaved in weeks or how her knees have weird scars from childhood daredevil escapades- “Only the best for the very best girlfriend.” 

Angela's simple words are so genuine that they don't touch Fareeha's heart, they pick it up and give it a bear hug. She lays back against the cushions, watching the remaining orange fade from the sky outside and reminding herself that it's okay to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're a third through Inktober y'all! Everyone's been so sweet and it's keeping me motivated, here's to the rest of the month!


	12. Talk it Out (McHanzo NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anal sex, a lil raunch + awkward sex moments, and mention of past and current struggles   
> Jesse uses masc terms for his genitals

He would never say as much to Genji, but after one conversation with the grumpy mystery brother who slung sandwiches and looked like some kind of alternative fashion model, Jesse's only conclusion was “I can't not fuck him.” 

Opening up to him at a drunk two in the morning, waking up to his kisses, falling straight head over heels for him? That was a surprise, but his whole life is one big surprise and Jesse's happy to roll with this one. He opened his arms and Hanzo came, hesitant at first, but he waited, what no one else had done for him, and was generously rewarded. Hanzo isn't just smart-mouthed and hot, he's adorable when he's half-asleep, considerate on Jesse's own bad days, and the absolute best person to do absolutely nothing with. 

The sex is really fucking hot, though. 

Like, he was a bit of a slut in his early twenties, but he's never been this goddamn excited to get on his knees for somebody. Hanzo is next-level sexy. His tattoo ripples when he flexes his arm, for chrissakes. And something about that undercut and beard combo, the piercings too- maybe it's tapping into some holdover bad boy fixation from his teens but Jesse doesn't give a damn. It's always good with him, and he feels like he'll never stop being hungry for more. 

Like right now, with Hanzo bent over his back on his creaky bed in his shitty apartment. He's never been so glad to live over a payday loans place. 

Hanzo pauses to catch his breath, and Jesse whines against the damp skin of his forearm as the grip on his hips stays tight, his lover grinding into him nice and slow. He's well-hung and uncut, thick enough to stretch Jesse just so. He's not sure if it's his pulse he's feeling or Hanzo's, but he's not given much time to think it over before they start again, hips slapping loudly against his ass. Hanzo's hand grasps the back of his neck and he moans out something desperate and taunting, already well worked over. Hanzo chuckles like the smug bastard he is and keeps the pace steady. 

That's another great thing about him. Those of Jesse's past partners who didn't find him lacking found him to be too much. Too loud, too needy, came too easy and too often. Either made too much of a mess or needed too much lube to avoid chafing, depending on how his body felt like fucking with him. Too hairy, too sweaty, and once upon a time, too skinny. Everyone was a critic. 

Not this guy. He would complain about Jesse cuddling up on him before he showered, but would just as soon bury his face against his chest after a long, hot night and pass right out. Once joked about Jesse never shutting up, but as soon as he quieted down, Hanzo changed tactics and didn't smile until he made him loud again. The first time he watched Jesse come apart twice on his fingers, he looked impressed, and then his smile turned so wicked Jesse swore he saw horns sprout from his head. 

So Jesse's hard-pressed to complain when something about the angle isn't quite working. For whatever reason, Hanzo's cock is just jabbing all the wrong places and not doing much for him. In truth, it feels more like constipation than a good stretch and stroke. But he'll come soon, and Jesse doesn't need to and maybe can't come again, he won't- 

“ _Hngh._ ” 

Hanzo slows to a stop immediately, recognizing the difference between a grunt of satisfaction one of discomfort. Shit. “What's wrong?” 

“Nothing, m'good. You can keep going.” Jesse wiggles his hips, knowing he's a pretty tempting picture from that angle. 

Hanzo doesn't move, and though he can't see his face, his tone is uncompromising. “Not if I'm hurting you. What's the matter?” 

Jesse huffs against the rumpled sheets, remaining arousal flowing away. “You're not hurting me. Just- I don't know, you're not really rubbing me the right way? It's a little weird, I guess, but I'm fine.” 

Hanzo hums, thoughtfully, analytical side whirring into gear and Jesse isn't sure how to feel about that trait of his right now. “Let's try something. Roll on your back.” 

He carefully pulls out, both of them grunting. Hanzo helps Jesse shift onto his back and resettle comfortably. He lays there with spread legs, rubbing a hand absently over his stomach while watching Hanzo re-lube himself up. Either to get his arousal under control or avoid awkward eye contact he looks away, fixing his eyes on old vacation photos pinned to Jesse's ugly wallpaper. 

“Jerkin' it while looking at Mount Rushmore, very sexy.” 

Hanzo looks back, smiling faintly before saying in an utterly serious voice. “This one's for Team USA.” 

Jesse fucking loses it, he can't help himself. Tears prickle while Hanzo laughs too, knees braced on the edge of the mattress and sticky hands on Jesse's thighs. He crawls back over top of him as they wheeze, taking his mouth in a deep kiss that steals his breath. He can still taste his cock on Hanzo's tongue, and his head feels fuzzy when he pulls back, pretty brown eyes serious as always. “I'm going to put it in again. Tell me if it still hurts.” 

“Aye aye, sir.” 

“I mean it,” Hanzo frowns, standing up and gripping the base. “I can just finish myself off, it's not a big deal.” 

“O-kay,” Jesse makes himself relax as Hanzo slowly pushes in. As his on-again-off-again fuckbuddy in Deadlock, who was otherwise an okay guy, put it, 'If I wanted to get myself off, I would have stayed home.' 

Luckily the angle change works, spectacularly. No longer is Hanzo's cock bumping uncomfortably inside him, the pressure feels full and hot and so good. They've never done this in this position, Hanzo likes to bend him over and Jesse likes to ride him. He reaches down to pull himself off again, whimpering as Hanzo's hands grip behind his knees, rubbing that one weird spot that makes the bottom drop out of his stomach. “Fuck- please, baby, please- harder, just give it t'me-” 

Hanzo needs little goading, lip pinched white between his teeth. Sweat drips down his abs as his grasp on Jesse's legs slips, bracing himself on his chest instead. He thrusts mostly with his back, as if afraid that Angie's hardware can't take the strain. Like she hasn't slid that questionnaire towards him more than once and told him to quit blushing and answer question five honestly. 

Jesse squeezes around him on the withdrawal, making Hanzo full-on growl and fuck that's sexy, he tells him so and gets a brief smirk. Hanzo leans back again, using his thumbs to spread Jesse's cheeks and watch his cock disappear into the tight ring of his ass. Fuck. He feels himself twitch and rubs harder, messier, gathering whatever slick he can as his body draws up in preparation for another orgasm. 

Hanzo's eyes latch onto his, and he licks his lips, pushes his hair back and oh, Jesse is so gone. He ratchets up the filth spilling off his tongue just for the pleasure of watching Hanzo flush even darker red. He'd kiss his way down that blush again if he could reach. Hanzo looks so damn good like this, it's unnatural. 

He catches hold of Jesse's jaw then, firm and with his thumb on his bottom lip, staring a moment longer before diving down and kissing him sloppy. Sex seems to override his instinctive aversion of eye contact, and Jesse doesn't mind at all. He grinds in again, deep enough that the hair of their bellies scrapes together. He braces one arm beside Jesse's head, pressing his face against his neck and dropping open-mouthed, almost possessive kisses there. 

Jesse's focus is narrowing, all he can think about is the weight on top and the even drags inside and the strain in his hand as he jerks his cock raw. Then, Hanzo whispers his name with such need that it gets him there. He clamps down on Hanzo's cock and lets himself arch and ride the wave. He doesn't realize he's chanting his partner's name until Hanzo moans, rarely loud and lapsing into long, slack-jawed pants while his hips stutter and shake. Jesse manages to keep his eyes open while his body squeezes itself dry a couple more times, watching Hanzo lose himself through the hair matted to his face. 

Hanzo collapses almost immediately, pressed to Jesse's shoulder as they shiver through oversensitive zaps of pleasure. He opens his eyes after a moment, lifting himself halfway up. “Did we just-?” 

“Damn right we did,” Jesse chuckles, lifting his hand to clasp Hanzo's in an almost fraternal gesture. Hanzo snorts derisively, but returns it, lifting their joined hands to press a shaky kiss to Jesse's knuckles. His eyes soften then, and Jesse tongues the chip in his back molar to avoid saying something stupid. 

Hanzo pulls out after a polite warning, dealing with the condom and mess like a real gentleman. Jesse feels too sluggish and sated to do anything but roll towards the pillows while Hanzo pulls the topsheet away. He snickers at him, sounding much too pleased with himself. “You're a bit cute when you're spoiled.” 

Jesse chuckles softly, rubbing his neck while Hanzo removes his legs and pressure stockings. “Gonna be feelin' you tomorrow, darlin'. Goddamn.” 

“That was my intent,” Hanzo smirks and turns out the light. His lips find Jesse's and he knows they aren't done yet. His lover is a clingy cuddler if they don't end up talking, kissing him and carding fingers through his hair and making the sweetest little noises when Jesse returns the affection. 

They lay still after a while. Jesse halfway asleep with Hanzo's arms around him, but not out enough to miss the lips his temple, or the whisper that leaves him exposed in a whole other way. “You are perfect to me, Jesse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a bit steamy, eh?   
> I always have a touch of worry when I'm writing trans characters that by representing A, I'm leaving B, C, D, E, etc. unrepresented. There's lots of ways to be trans! Jesse's terms, presentation and sexuality are just what suits this particular version of him. You do you, you funky little cowboys.   
> Also for clarity: Jesse isn't referring to abuse, but he's put up with a lot of shit and bad sex in his past. Not always from bad people, just from folks his age who grew up the same way he did and didn't exactly learn how to fuck from reading Nagoski and nodding their heads meaningfully, if that makes sense!


	13. Addiction (Shimada Brothers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for alcohol, drug mentions, discussion of addiction

Really, Hanzo should always expect to learn surprising new information about his brother, but he can't be blamed for letting his guard down while crowded under a kitchen table with him, Lena, and Emily. 

“I took one tab of ecstasy in college and oooh!” Lena half-feigns a shiver, shaking her head. “Never again! It was so scary!” 

“Oh, I took it tons of times,” Genji deals out cards for their second round of Crazy Eights. Winston's surprise party has been slightly delayed by the birthday boy getting hung up at work, much to Dr. Ziegler's distressed texts. The four of them have opted to maintain their blanket fort hiding spot while everyone mills around, slightly on edge and waiting for the signal. “I was rolling during one of the few lectures I actually turned up for in college. God, that was fun for me and no one else.” Genji wets his thumb on his lips and picks out a card. “You know what wasn't fun? Coke. Once and never again, I thought I was dying.” 

Hanzo's head snaps around as he lays down a two. “Where the hell did you get cocaine? And when?” 

Genji shrugs nonchalantly. “Second or third year, I guess? It wasn't hard to find that stuff where we grew up.” 

“In high school?” Hanzo tightens his jaw, not wanting to make a scene but god, if this wasn't blatant proof of- Keeping your little brother away from hard drugs is the bare minimum for older sibling duties, and he couldn't even manage that. What must they think of him? 

“I knew a lot of party kids in my A-levels who did stuff like that,” Emily adds, trying to cuddle up under Lena's arm without showing her cards and struggling a bit. “It was so wild, I couldn't believe the stories they told. Pretty sure some kids think they're immortal.” 

“Like me, you mean?” Lena giggles, elbowing Em gently. 

“And me!” Genji flashes a grin. “I'm so lucky I don't have a hole in my brain, honestly. I can't recommend anything about alcoholism, I'm pretty sure my hangovers are twice as bad now as like, karmic punishment.” 

“You weren't an alcoholic.” Hanzo cuts in, incredulous, putting down an eight and making everyone groan. “You were just a stupid kid.” 

“Now that's an upgrade,” Lena jests, sighing at her pickup pile. 

“No, you're a stupid kid when you're drunk every weekend,” Genji grabs a handful of the bowl of chips they stole, crunching loudly. “When you're drunk every _day,_ you're an alcoholic.” 

“That explains a couple things about you,” Emily teases, almost too lightly. 

“Doesn't it though? Now all I'm addicted to is the hit of dopamine I get when someone pays attention to me.” He nuzzles happily against Lena, making her laugh. She opens her mouth to reply, but Mei calls out over the low din. “Everyone hide! He's coming!” 

The lights shut off as a dozen pair of feet rush to every available hiding spot. Fareeha whisper-yells as she grabs the net rope and dives behind the couch with a few others. “Wait and make sure it's him this time! I'm not putting these damn balloons up again!” 

When Winston finally enters with Angela, they clamber out from under the table and shout with everyone else. The look on his face is worth it, but the joy of the moment slides right off Hanzo. He heads home early that night, quiet in thought. 

The Shimada family estate had a cellar of sake and imported wine as big as his old apartment. His mother's father's house had the same, so did every gnarled branch of their tangled family tree. No party was hosted or meeting held without bottomless glasses. Hanzo had his first taste long before he was twenty, under instruction by his father that essentially amounted to 'in vino veritas.' If he was a sloppy drunk, he was a sloppy person. His natural restraint had never come in so handy. 

He never got sloppy drunk until things fell apart. Until he left Japan and his brother behind. He knew true emptiness then, lonely beyond measure and thirsty for the burn in his throat and the numbness in his head. Even in university, when things were comparably alright, he would slip a beer from his coat and drink in an empty corner on the train home. He wouldn't even smell of it on arriving, but it was just enough to feel like he could deal with whatever was waiting for him. 

Even now, he reaches for it. They always have bottles in the cupboards, away from sight. Jesse likes his shooters after a long day and almost all their friends apt to celebrate in liquid form. But the motivation matters. Hanzo knows why- maybe not completely, but mostly why Genji used to spend so much time out of his own head, so why does he reach for it? 

He can blame long days and stress and guilt all he wants, but it always has been and continues to be the easiest way to hit the pause button inside his head. He reaches for it any time he does something hurtful or embarrassing, in the hopes that if he washes it away it won't be added to the list that has played on repeat in his mind for so many years. There is so much he'd like to forget, his mind a wire trap that captures the smallest of moments and brings them up long past their relevance, completely outside of his control. 

Jesse has quietly pried a bottle out of his fingertips more than once. If they are to continue, this cannot continue. It's not as if he needs rehab, he's still a productive member of society. And here was Genji tossing around terms and never actually quitting, as eager to have a beer on the weekends as anyone, provided his pain management regimen allows it. 

He'll just stop for a bit, to make sure he still can. 

He's in the middle of a good episode when Genji calls him, because he has a sixth sense for bad timing. “What do you want?” 

“Rude, first of all,” Genji scoffs, voice a little far from the mic. “I wrote a midterm today and cleaned my entire apartment and I need to relax, you want to go shoot pool?” 

“No, not tonight.” 

Genji whines. “Aw, well, how about tomorrow? We haven't hung out much lately.” 

“No, I can't-” Hanzo pauses, recognizing he can't fake a month of being busy without doing significant damage and opting for partial honestly. “I'm doing that Ocsober thing? I promised my patrons I'd give a certain amount of money to charity, and some of them are doing it too.” 

“Oh!” A beat of silence, then a snicker, laced with fondness. “Geez, Hanzo.” 

“What? What's so funny?” 

“Nothing!” Genji laughs again, almost too soft to hear. “That's really good. I'll do it with you!” 

“No point in spoiling your month because of me,” Hanzo murmurs, adjusting his headphones. He's yet to find ones that don't at least slightly bother his ears. “It won the poll, so I had to do it. I mean, I could cheat but I'd rather not.” 

“Nothing will be spoiled,” Genji retorts, almost offended. Hanzo supposes it's easier to pull off living with Zen. “Is Jesse doing it too? We should make a team name.” 

“No, I haven't mentioned it to him.” Pointing it out would be so- so look-at-me, aren't-I-put-together-now, an air best reserved for Genji, not him. 

“Oh, I see.” Another pause. “What are you doing right now?” 

“Watching television and making treat bags for my care package subscribers.” Hanzo's eyes flick back to the paused screen of his computer, his desk awash in cellophane and bulk store candy. “I know it's early, but I've lost all faith in the timeliness of international shipping.” 

“Cute! I'll come and help, I'm good at that stuff!” 

“No, you'll eat everything,” Hanzo says, when what he really means is that he wants to finish this show without his brother or Jesse catching him watching a cartoon. But a not-insignificant amount of begging wins him over. He's not sure if he's shedding his stubbornness or just the will to fight with each passing year. “Fine, but put an empty jar of ice cream back in the freezer again and I'll peel your skin off like a chicken wing.” 

“Understood,” Genji snorts, thumping and rustling in the background. “I'll catch the next bus over. Hey, Hanzo?” 

“Yes?” 

“Hanzo?” 

“What?” 

“Hanzo!” 

“ _What._ ” 

“I'm really proud of you.” Hanzo can practically see that toothy, boyish smile through the phone. “See you soon!” 

With a beep, Genji hangs up. Hanzo keeps separating the candy, Den snoring between his feet, but takes some time to hit the play button again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Lena so much and she's such a sweetie but she's barely been in this 'verse OTL here she is! She's great and friends with everyone, one of my fave lesbians <3   
> Hanzo's Patreon gift bags are inspired by a recent tweet from Shing Yin Khor (who makes great art btw, I met her briefly at a con and she's a sweetie, check her out!) of her making treat bags for her patrons and watching Hilda. Hanzo is accidentally adorable all the time and Genji (and Jesse, obvs, and everyone) loves it.   
> I'm going away tomorrow and will be back late Monday, but I'mma try and pre-write and post so I don't break my streak. Wish me luck!


	14. Lacy Things (Genyatta light NSFW)

One of Genji's favourite things to do when he gets home is sneak up behind Zen and dip to kiss the curve of his neck, bracing his palms on his thighs. This time he gets a surprise, soft sand-coloured cotton laying in pleats over his legs. “What's this, hm?” 

“I had some pocket money from selling those games, so I bought fabric and had Sita stitch some things up for me.” Zen giggles, waiting for Genji to finish dropping kisses on his neck before turning around. “I've been feeling femme more often lately and I wanted to express myself a bit. I don't know if my fashion sense has quite caught up though, what do you think?” 

Zenyatta looks like a pastel dream in the angled late afternoon sunlight of their living room. A loose baby blue crop top with a red heart appliqued neatly in the centre, showing off just a sliver of trim belly above the elastic band of the pleated mini-skirt, beloved thin grey leggings covering him to the cuffs of his homemade sandals. He toys with the teal-painted mala at his neck, his smile bunching up his freckles and drawing attention to the thin gold lining his eyes. He's done his nails recently, trimmed flawlessly and painted vibrant purple. 

“You're adorable.” Genji's words rush out as he drinks in the sight of him, as wholesome and soothing as a hot drink on a snowy day. “You look so cute like that- I feel like if I touched you I'd be doing something terrible.” 

Zenyatta scoffs, gentle and smiling. “Such strange ideas you have sometimes, come here.” 

“I mean it! You look so good-” Genji kneels and loses his next words in their kiss. Brushing fingertips over Zenyatta's long neck, then lips, quickly finding his way under the loose top and stalling when his fingers brush lace. “Is that what I think it is.” 

There's a light flush in Zenyatta's cheeks, not self-conscious, merely pleased. Brightening with his chuckle as Genji pushes the shirt up to his neck to reveal a pale pink bralette, thin enough that his nipples are faintly visible. “It's surprisingly comfortable.” 

“Oh god, this is it for me.” Genji pushes his face against Zenyatta's chest and groans, almost pained. “Fuck- you smell like vanilla. I'm dead, you killed me. I never stood a chance.” 

Zenyatta laughs again, stomach fluttering beneath Genji's thumbs and only upping the ante on his utter perfection. “I didn't think you'd be such a fan. I simply felt like being soft and cute today.” 

“And you cleared that bar by a mile.” Genji frees himself from the shirt, shaking his staticky hair out and coming up close enough for their noses to brush, hands petting Zenyatta's lovely hips. “What would I find if I slipped this off, hm?” 

Watching Zenyatta's honeyed amber eyes darken is another of his favourites. Their lips brush, hot breath ghosting over his. “I suppose you'll have to discover that for yourself.” 

Genji loves the many, many things they do in bed (and sometimes on the couch, occasionally in the shower, outside once or twice). His favourite might be riding Zenyatta like he stole him, but the competition is steep. Everything feels impossibly, endlessly good. Making out, Zenyatta unwrapping him like a gift while he peels away as much or as little clothing as he wants to expose sepia planes ripe for tasting and claiming, letting his head fall so far back he gets dizzy while Zen kisses and sucks on his neck. Zenyatta's hands touch his scarred body with a hunger that manages to be passionate and innocent at once, his mouth praising him and sighing happily in turns. 

This time, Zenyatta's pink boyshorts tempt him into mouthing and licking and rubbing through the fabric until he shivers through a squirmy little orgasm under Genji's relentless attentions, his grin widening at the taste of salt. Another stealing of full lips, a little pillowtalk, and he slicks up Zenyatta's thighs. Curling against his back, Genji recalls blowing this off once upon a time, as a slight upgrade to handjobs, but thankfully never said as much. He doesn't rut his cock between Zenyatta's thighs so often, but he loves the softness, how close he can hold him, and the control, given up willingly and taken with care. 

“I've often wondered, and now I have the opportunity to ask,” Zenyatta breathes, limp in the crook of Genji's arm as they bask in each other's warmth. “What is the distinct appeal of the matching set?” 

Genji laughs, a little rough, against his lover's temple and gestures with his free hand to emphasize his words. “Well, you see, it's like when someone gives you a slice of strawberry shortcake with the sides cut exactly and the icing all whirled up and the strawberry resting exactly in the centre. You'd still be just as excited if the berry was sideways or the cut was lopsided but it's just- you have to appreciate perfect symmetry when the universe gives it to you.” 

“Hm, I see you've given this some thought.” 

Genji leans over to peck away Zen's snickers. “Hey, like you said, beauty is worth valuing in all its forms.” Another wet smooch to his cheek, then a sigh. “I want to buy you more cute things like this. Do you like makeup? I can get you some from Hana.” 

“Don't feel obligated-” 

“I don't,” Genji nuzzles against his neck for a moment. “And I don't want to make this about what I want, but- you're just so beautiful when you're all cute and smiling like that. I want to see it again, I want you to enjoy this again.” 

Zenyatta breathes deep, turning into his touch. “How sweet you are. Perhaps a shopping trip would be a fun date night sometime?” 

“I'd like that. Anytime you want-” Genji is interrupted by the loud growl of his own stomach, their eyes meeting. “Except now, now is pasta time.” 

Zenyatta cups his face and laughs, and Genji knows that's his favourite sound in the whole world. “Such a cheeky little sparrow I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Zen once again competing to be the grossest couple, will they succeed? More news at 11   
> Zen is genderfluid and has a major weakness for cute things, he changes up his presentation based on how he feels but sticks with masculine pronouns because he has some Big Inside Feelings about wanting to be a man in the way Mondatta always taught him how to be a man. Gender is squiggles always and forever.   
> Off to catch a literal bus, see y'all soon!


	15. Artistry (McHanzo)

Hanzo finally snags a quiet Sunday afternoon to clean out and reorganize the hell that is his work desk, now extended to a filing cabinet, extra drawers, and multiple shelves courtesy of some date night carpentry. Their house isn't big enough for a separate office and he feels obtrusive but Jesse says it's their space, they can do whatever the hell they like with it, and he likes Hanzo working somewhere with sunlight and easy access to the kitchen. Which really means Jesse's easy access to Hanzo. 

Like now, when he stops messing around on his phone and starts picking through the supplies Hanzo's piled neatly on every surrounding flat surface including the arm of the couch, inquiring periodically. “What's this thing?” 

Hanzo glances over, untangling important papers from scrunched receipts and useless scraps. “A hake brush, for watercolour. Came with a set I got a long time ago, but I don't do washes often so I haven't needed-” 

Hanzo turns to set yet another pencil sharpener down and finds Jesse stroking the goat hair bristles over his cheek with an endearing fascination, replaced by a glare. “Don't you judge me.” 

He snorts as Jesse reluctantly replaces the brush in its pile and grabs the remote. As he files papers away, his eyes land on a pile of cheap but still-functional ballpoint pens. He had used them to draw a sketch of Jesse's dragon on his arm prior to the actual session, to see how he liked it. Of course he had, and what sticks out most in memory is how relaxed Jesse was at the drag of Hanzo's pen over his skin. It gives him an odd idea. 

He doesn't admit to having purchased the washable children's paint ahead of time until his plan earns his husband's intrigue and a soft chuckle. Another quiet evening, Jesse laid out bare in their bed, pillows to comfortably bolster him and his arm tucked under his head as he watches over his shoulder. “If you write 'Hanzo was here,' I'll make y'sleep on the couch for the next decade.” 

“You would never,” Hanzo smirks, bending to kiss his shoulder. He's naked but for his briefs, settling himself against Jesse's side as though he were a large sketchbook and taking up his pen. Deep brown eyes fall shut and he begins. 

Jesse's back is beautiful, the topography of a thoroughly-lived life. He bears a Deadlock tattoo on the back of his neck that he doesn't much care for, and a tramp stamp of weakly-drawn lace and two handguns that bores him, neither enough of a concern to warrant removal. There's scars here, jagged ones at his sides and one exit wound dangerously near a kidney. Rough acne remnants dot his shoulders, he's always fond of a good backscratch there. The skin is lighter brown from lack of sunlight, though not as pale this year from their many hours spent outside and shirtless. Strangely less furred than his front and limbs, the hair is a wispy fuzz and outright bare in some spots. 

He shivers at the first drag of pen across his shoulder, making them both snicker. Hanzo draws in large, slow swoops, trying to follow old figure drawing lessons and open up the motion. The nib catches and jiggles erratically across the skin, lines imperfect and light. Goosebumps prickle up, but hee stays settled on his belly. Hanzo catches himself humming a lyric-less melody and continues, lost in the focus and play of the ink. 

Jesse is half-melted into their nest of blankets, pillows, and comforter by the time Hanzo feels satisfied with the outlines. He moves carefully, not wanting to disturb him, and reaches for the paints. Bold, goopy colours of the rainbow, dribbled onto an old palette from their tiny jars. He takes a medium round-tip brush and picks up colour, whispering “Cold,” before brushing on the paint. 

He's played model for Hanzo before, and now he wonders if Jesse was fidgety for comedic purposes rather than genuine restlessness. Or perhaps the light touches are inducing stillness in him that posing doesn't. Hanzo finds his own mind transported pleasantly elsewhere as the brush dots and sweeps over shoulder blade, spine, and soft sides. He gently braces his elbow on one cheek of Jesse's ass and doesn't even get a laugh in response. Den is asleep on the living room couch. The world outside is mostly hushed and asleep for once. 

How he would like to spend an eternity this way. All the peace of shaping a painting to vivid life, and all the pleasure of Jesse's warmth, closeness, and unassuming beauty, all for him to enjoy. 

Unfortunately, he must finish. Setting the palette aside and skimming his fingers up and down Jesse's sides to rouse him. The man stretches to look in the hand mirror held up by Hanzo, taking in what he can see of the complex web of flowers woven across his back. “Well, isn't that pretty! You're so talented, darlin'.” 

“Skilled,” Hanzo chides, smiling to himself and stroking Jesse's hairy thigh. 

“Right, right,” Jesse props his head on his fist. “Don't suppose you'd like to take a picture of it? Unless it'll ruin the metaphor about the ephemeral nature of whatever.” 

Hanzo snorts, but reaches for Jesse's phone, tone serious. “You don't mind?” 

“Nah, go for it, sweetness.” Jesse stretches out lazily, striking a relaxed posture while Hanzo takes him in. “This good?” 

“Yes.” Hanzo nudges the lamp closer, washing his skin a brighter gold. The photos feel more like artistic nudes than shared ones. Jesse's gorgeous, thick body on display in all its masculine allure. Satisfied, he grabs the cloth he had wet earlier, then a makeup wipe for the ink, cleaning him as gently as possible. 

He fits himself to Jesse's back afterwards, cuddling in peaceful silence. It's nowhere near their usual bedtime, but they lay against one another for hours, minds and bodies at rest. Jesse's skin is so warm and Hanzo is certain that this is better than what any of his meditation sessions have achieved. 

Some time later, Hanzo pulls a long day at the print shop, setting up a new show in the gallery space and doing inventory with the help of their most recent intern. He arrives home to Den's leaps and Jesse's kiss but his attempt at an embrace is stalled. “Got a little surprise for you, honey.” 

Hanzo folds his arms, awaiting the inevitable dick joke, but instead Jesse turns around. He pulls his flannel shirttails out of his jeans and lifts them up, exposing the large patch of black foil taped there. Hanzo carefully, curiously peels it away to find the dull, thin tattoo covered entirely by a sweep of flowers. A mix of his and their preferred tattooist's style, curved nicely to Jesse's lower back and freshly coloured. 

“I know I shoulda asked,” Jesse turns back, sheepishly dragging his hand through his hair. “But I just- I don't know, I got it in my head and I-” 

“I love it,” Hanzo fastens his arms around Jesse's ribs, kissing the centre of his chest and tipping his head up to smile at him. “It suits you very well.” 

Jesse chuckles, smooching his forehead when he angles up for it. “Yeah, I dunno, I just- all of a sudden got this itch for more ink. Don't have to worry about anybody not liking it anymore, so I just wanna end up a mobile art gallery of stuff I like by the time I croak.” 

Hanzo tuts, but kisses his jaw, squeezing him tight when Jesse's hand brushes over his shaved scalp. “I know the feeling well.” Another kiss, soft against his mouth. “Did the colouring hurt?” 

“Eh, the endorphin rush handled it pretty well,” Jesse chuckles. Den keens and noses at their thighs, Hanzo's hand dropping to pet him. “Thanks for being cool about it, sugar. S'one of the dumber impulses I've had recently.” 

Hanzo kisses him yet again, bring his hands down to sturdy hips, so close to the tender new piece. His art, on Jesse's skin, again. He looks into impossibly soft eyes and feels the catch in his throat, still. The love he feels runs so deep, so intense and overwhelming Hanzo is unsure how he can contain such a feeling. Surprised that this level of happiness is possible, that as simple a thing as Jesse's smile can knock him out and leave him struggling to find his words. “Not at all, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Call me weird but someone drawing on you is /so relaxing/   
> Also shoutout to the part of the McHanzo fandom that collectively agreed Jesse has a tramp stamp, this one's for you   
> (I survived my work trip! I'm tired! But I'm not getting off this Intitober train yet!)


	16. Nightmares (Pharmercy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight cw for PTSD, night terrors

The clean-laundry scent of their sheets is enough to knock Fareeha right out whenever she returns home from an overseas mission. She struggles to stay awake long enough to wrap her arms around Angela and snuggle her down like her personal self-heating body pillow. Sex is rarely on the agenda for the first day. They talk, they eat something from one of the many takeout menus on their fridge, and conk out at grandma o'clock. Fareeha has learned to appreciate the little things when she returns home, though Angela's continued presence in her life and her bed is no little thing. 

It still surprises her, and scares the shit out of her, and prompts her to treasure every moment with this wonderful, precious, sweet woman. 

Though it's much harder to treasure a groggy wake-up to Angela moaning and shaking beside her. 

“Angie! Angie, wake up-” Fareeha's thoughts feel like they're running at half-speed, but the image of her girlfriend sweating and thrashing and sounding so broken and helpless is on fast forward. She cries out like a child and Fareeha doesn't have to speak German to recognize the cause of the distress. She shakes her shoulder hard. “Angela! It's okay, wake-” 

Cat-like reflexes would be a good explanation of what happens next. Angela volleys herself out of bed and stands with feet apart on the floor, fists up and teeth bared. They've fought as couples sometimes do, and she's seen Angela angry, but not filled with what appears to be unadulterated homicidal rage. The coldness in her eyes only gets a moment to chill Fareeha's soul, but it counts. 

And then she covers her mouth and starts to sob, and Fareeha is frightened for an entirely different reason. 

“Angela, oh, love.” Fareeha whispers, rushing over to join her as she falls to her knees, crying weakly and slouching. She tries to reach for her, but Angela is so tense that she settles for stroking her hair. “It's okay, you're here. I'm here. Everything's fine.” 

“I'm so sorry,” Angela rasps, muscles like rocks though they shake pitifully. “It felt so real. I was there again and I couldn't- everything was the same- it was all-” 

Her words are slurred, from sleep and peak stress. Fareeha kisses her forehead and tries to stay close without crowding. She doesn't need to relive it again, Fareeha knows it all. She's seen her own hellscapes in dreams, had her own terrors, shaken fellow soldiers awake and drank three a.m. coffee with them when fear stole away with sleep. 

But it's different when it's the woman she loves. She wants to take it all away and she can't, even though she's the one responsible again. 

“Me and my big mouth,” Fareeha whispers, half to herself as Angela shivers her way back to normal breathing. “I won't do this to you anymore. You don't need a briefing every time I come home. I'll keep that stuff to myself.” 

“No! You don't need to censor yourself around me,” Angela sniffs, wiping her nose roughly on her arm. 

Fareeha's tongue curls in her cheek. “Well, you can't keep doing this-” 

“I know that!” Angela bites out, suddenly beating her fists against the side of their thick mattress and collapsing against it just as quick. “Scheisse- do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I enjoy this?” 

Bagged though she is, Fareeha cannot bring herself to snap back. There's nothing enviable about being rendered an oxymoron, a physician who cannot heal themself. “Of course not. Maybe we could see if my therapist does couples'-” 

“I've gone to therapy,” Angela gulps a few breaths, eyes hidden. “I've tried it all, I submitted myself for experiments- nothing _works._ Those images- they're just in my head forever now. Until neurobiology learns how to actually rewire our brains-” Another heart-rending sniffle. “I'm sorry, this isn't fair to you, either.” 

Fareeha rubs her back, bare where the tank top straps are all stretched out from the positions Angela contorts herself into while asleep. “The least I can do is stop from triggering it. My work can stay at work, it doesn't have to come home at all.” 

“But that's not better!” Angela flaps a hand, finally looking at her, eyes all agitated pink and weeping. “What kind of relationship is that? Your work is a huge part of your life!” 

“And so are you! A really important part! More important than...” Fareeha stalls at finishing the sentence, not because she doesn't mean it, but because she doesn't know how to feel about meaning it. She shakes her head. “I cannot watch you suffer and do nothing. I don't know what the good option is.” 

“I don't know that there is a good option,” Angie falls against her shoulder, hungry for the touch but holding back like she's bruised all over. “It's been like this for a long time, it might be this way forever.” A shuddering sigh. “I don't know what else to tell you.” 

Pessimism from her lovely Angela, the true tireless advocate for her patients, feels like a crack in Fareeha's foundation. An earthquake has come through and she isn't sure whether to repair or build over. “Maybe we can-” 

“Wait,” Angela lifts her hand shakily and kind of bumps Fareeha's face instead of gently touching it. “This is not the time or place for this kind of talk. We need to sleep, we can discuss it tomorrow.” 

Fareeha hums affirmatively, scooping Angie up with both arms and lifting her back into their bed. “This is why I say you're the smart one.” 

“Hush,” Angie says, a glimmer of herself back in her blue eyes as they draw the covers up. 

Breakfast is quiet, they're both different brands of withdrawn and Angela looks almost guilty after their goodbye kiss. After work, Fareeha pulls into the parking lot of a doughnut shop and turns on her phone. Cells had to be locked up on her part of the base, if anyone you knew was dying they had best dial through to reception. 

“Hey, kiddo, what's up?” Gabe's worn-out tenor lifts a little weight from her shoulders. 

“Hey, I need advice. Is now a good time?” Fareeha sucks on the iced coffee she got in the drive-thru. Why did she even buy this? It takes like broken dreams and fake sugar, she wants more. 

“And you're calling me instead of your mother?” Gabe balks, laughing under his breath. “Listen, I don't know how many bodies you need to hide, but I can't help. The specialist said my back is officially a hundred percent fucked.” 

Fareeha snorts, feeling genuinely humorous for the first time all day. “That's what it says on your medical records? Officially fucked?” 

“Something like that. Doctors have that scribbly handwriting, you know?” 

She hums, mind drawn to Angela's loopy scrawl. When did the obsessive crush part of a relationship end? Post-moving in but pre-making a mutually impulsive decision at the pet store? Post-merged finances but pre-life insurance discussions? “Sure. No bodies, though. I just need relationship advice, kinda.” 

Gabe laughs again, hearty but in such a tone that she doesn't feel mocked. “How hard up are you for someone to ask? I'm the last person you should be asking about any of that.” 

Actually her parents are tied for the last person, Gabe is maybe in the bottom ten. “You and Jack made it work.” 

“Did we? I didn't get that memo.” 

Fareeha makes an irritated, childish noise. “Anyway- how did you- when you were discharged, did that- was it hard for you to listen to him? Did you ever- was it better if he didn't tell you anything?” Wow, good damn thing she doesn't write essays for a living. 

Gabe makes a throaty noise of understanding all the same, always able to extrapolate from the smallest intel. “He's always been honest with me, I'll give him that. I can't say the same, but I can say that wasn't a completely great decision. Can't say I'd change anything if I did it over again, but I wouldn't hold myself up as a good example.” 

Fareeha leans heavily against her steering wheel, sighing a bit. “Have you ever even once been a good example?” 

“Ana? How'd you hack this call?” Fareeha groans loudly and Gabe revels in her torment, something dinging in the background. “Don't write this down because it's trite as hell, but trust me on this; pretending something isn't there doesn't make it disappear.” 

“No kidding,” Fareeha mutters, chugging more of her sad melting coffee. “This shit is really hard, sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes?” Gabe snickers, a little distant. “Do you wanna get into more specifics? You know how I feel about inane bullshit.” 

“Do you have time?” Fareeha drags her boot over the worn-down carpet of her car. Gabe and Jack are at least in the same time zone, but their lives are just as occupied as her parents'. Age is not slowing any of them down and honestly it's kinda cool, gives her something to look forward to. 

“Sure do, as long as you aren't repulsed by the sound of me eating fries.” They both laugh softly, Gabe cursing as he almost drops his phone, something metal banging around in the background. “And don't sound so defeated, alright? You and Doctor Girlfriend can work this out, you're both more committed than I ever was.” 

“That's a fucking lie and a half.” Fareeha doesn't quite laugh, but she does smile thinly at the spraypaint-spattered fence in front of her. She feels a little less stupid and useless, but with Gabe's familiar quiet tones in her ear, she still feels like a kid in grown-up shoes. 

A glance at the fancy watch her dad got her for her birthday reminds her that it's two-for-one dessert night at Angela's favourite restaurant. She inhales through her nose, weak caffeine on her tongue, and remembers how her mother would bring a treat home if they had to have a big talk. Maybe there's something to be said for discussing serious matters over chocolate cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quickun because still tired, gosh, so tired   
> Bit of a heavy topic to touch on here, but I didn't want to leave all the hard relationship-stuff to the main boys. Angela is former military, Fareeha is currently in the air force and does peacekeeping missions primarily. They have both Seen Some Shit and they're doing their best for themselves and each other <3   
> Much love to all, we're halfway through Intitober!!


	17. A Dip (McHanzo)

Jesse and Hanzo make their way up from Truth or Consequences to Yellowstone National Park in the same slow way someone longingly drags their finger over a map. Hanzo is relieved to have Jesse's old haunts in their rearview, though his husband insists they've got nothing to worry about. Nothing happened last time, when they came far South to ride horses and speak long into the unsettled night and discover the midnight pleasures of 7-11's. But like last time, Jesse abruptly stops constantly looking out of the corner of his eye when they drive across some invisible border. 

Listening to stories from someone you love is like listening to an old song remixed into something new. Details so familiar trimmed with new scenes, crisper colours, a neater script treatment. Jesse visited the park once, way back when he had a grandmother on weekends. She let him ride in the front seat all the way into the mountains. They stayed in a plaid-covered motel and shuffled behind tourist groups while Jesse stuck his little fingers in everything he wasn't supposed to, including grabbing and subsequently getting a stitches-worthy bite from a muskrat. Jesse claims it's an all-around miracle he's still alive. 

They tour the highlights on their first couple days. Watch Old Faithful go off, gape over the canyon and its magnificent waterfall, spot a bison at the hot springs (triggering a debate over the difference between bison and buffalo that is not resolved until some months later). They climb the mountain and rent a canoe and get far too many mosquito bites. Hanzo is coming to associate the rumpled plastic smell of their sleeping bags with the soothing closeness of Jesse's heartbeat and he complains that he's being turned into a hick, receiving a smack of Jesse's hat to the face for the insult. 

Deciding to put Angela's newest hardware upgrades to the test, they pick a medium-difficulty hiking trail to lead them through the tall trees and bee-populated wildflowers. Hanzo reminds himself of the battery packs in their knapsacks and the satellite phone they rented, Jesse checks the bear spray twice and they wander off in the early morning dew. 

By the time they've reached the halfway point, he needs little encouragement to be led off the trail, trusting Jesse's “s'gotta be here somewhere, I'm positive,” perhaps beyond reason. 

With no small amount of excitement from Jesse, they locate a pond, enclosed with conifers and the path to it barely a path at all but at least relatively flat. “Hasn't changed a bit! Goddamn.” 

They lay out the proper red-check picnic blanket they purchased at a tourist trap on the way in, devouring sandwiches and licking the mayonnaise from their fingers. Gradually shucking shirts, prosthetics, boots and pants. They sun themselves on the prominent rocks lining one end of the pond, inhaling air so fresh Hanzo almost feels high and nearly nodding off. 

When the sun peaks and sweat rolls over their muscles and folds, Jesse hops into the pond without a second thought, chest-deep and splashing himself with abandon. Hanzo laughs fondly, but feels an ache, recalling long afternoons at the beach. Genji's sticky hand in his, their mother's wet hair under his cheek as he rode on her back, their father's big hands patiently sculpting sandcastles with a perfectionism he definitely didn't inherit. His not-there lower legs phase through the rock, he rests his elbows on his thighs and watches Jesse dunk himself with baptismal enthusiasm. 

Jesse returns in mere minutes, standing beneath him with hair slicked back and arm up. “Y'look mighty hot up there, sweetheart. Why don't ya come on in here for a minute?” 

Hanzo shakes his head with a thin smile. “I don't trust myself not to drown, and it's a long way to the hospital.” 

“I won't let you fall,” Jesse says, soft and unyielding at once, asking with his eyes as he reaches for him. “C'mere, darlin'. The water's fine.” 

Hanzo says yes to that smile. His arms slide tight around broad shoulders and Jesse's hand is fastened to one of his now-sunkissed cheeks. The water is cold, and he scarcely suppresses a yelp when he's balls-deep, prompting Jesse to laugh almost too heartily. The warmth of his chest does help his shivering, as does the heat of daylight on his shoulders. Jesse walks along the bottom with such confidence, Hanzo wonders if this place has somehow been frozen in time after all. 

“I bet y'can still float,” Jesse muses after smooching on Hanzo a bit. “There's a shallow part over here, wanna try?” 

Hanzo is not hopeful about the outcome, but Jesse is halfway-kneeling in the shallow end so he can at least relax. It takes a touch of acrobatics, but he's laid on the pond's surface with Jesse's arm safely under him, breath catching when he feels the water hold his weight. “Heh, like a cork.” 

At Jesse's encouragement, he tries swimming. His thighs are little help, but his workout regimen does not fail him, arms pulling him forward and keeping him afloat. Jesse does some kind of backstroke beside him, never more than a few feet away. The still water is different than the ocean, more of a large, cold, murky bath than a thing of constant motion and power. But to be weightless again, the rush of foam through his fingers, it's like revisiting a dream. 

They paddle around a while before he attempts an underwater flip, holding his breath and diving down, fingers touching pondslime as his head rushes and he pushes off. Gulping air at the surface and flipping his hair back as his palms grip the stony bank, his eyes first catch the sunlight through the light, ever-present mountain clouds, filtering through the tree branches and sparkling along the disturbed surface of the pond. Everything green and glowing, almost ethereally alive. It's too beautiful to be real. 

“Nah, sugartits, that'd be you.” 

Hanzo aims a look over his shoulder, finding Jesse sitting in the water, floating at the perfect height to ogle Hanzo without an ounce of shame. “What am I going to do with you?” 

“Oh hell, I dunno.” Jesse snickers, scratching his neck as he stands on stumbling feet. Hanzo isn't sure if he means to show off his wedding band, but it stirs his heart all the same. 

Jesse plants his feet and grips Hanzo's waist, spinning him through the water as if it were a ballroom. They both yell when he nearly loses his grip and laugh when he ends up held tight to Jesse's chest. Hanzo lazily kisses wet lips and brushes his thumb over a thick eyebrow, just because he can. 

He's hoisted back up on the little rock promontory with a tight grunt of “Hoo, boy- gettin' old.” Hanzo scoffs but Jesse insists, hauling himself up and stretches out alongside him, back and shoulders popping. The water dripping off them forms a miniature lake beneath them, making dirt stick to their already-grubby skin. 

Hanzo regards him- his relaxed and mildly undignified sprawl, the damp clumps of his lashes resting on his cheeks, and the even rise and fall of his handsome, broad chest. He lays down next to him, cuddling close and suddenly limp in the too-warm glare of their shadeless spot. How unlikely that they found this place, that they're here at all, that Jesse is with him, warm and half-asleep beneath his fingers. 

He puts words to his thoughts rather than waxing silently poetical, stretching his arms around Jesse and kissing the red swoop of his dragon's tail. “I cannot begin to tell you how much I love you.” He brushes his fingers through Jesse's drying brown hair. “I'm scared to say how grateful I am for you, in case something will come to take you away.” 

“M'not Persephone, honeybee,” Jesse chuckles, leaning like a cat into the touch. “I ain't goin' anywhere that you ain't goin' too.” 

Hanzo hums, crawling over to fit their mouths together and savour yet another taste of him. Jesse sighs, looking up at Hanzo with crinkled eyes and touching his cheek with callused fingertips. “God, how'd I ever get this lucky?” 

Hanzo laughs lowly, almost self-conscious, and nuzzles against Jesse's neck, turning into his embrace. He feels so perfectly lazy, as if he could lay here forever. “Perhaps we should put our pants back on.” 

“Mmm,” Jesse's all-too familiar contented grumble vibrates through their chests. “Five more minutes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You aren't really married to Jesse McCree until you go skinny-dipping with him   
> The prompt for this chapter was nonsexual nudity, inspired by this super adorable art by kingcael on tumblr: http://kingcael.tumblr.com/post/153638470565/nude-gay-husbands-vol1-vol2-vol3   
> And partly inspired by me just really enjoying intimate but nonsexual shared nudity between couples 'n such because naked bodies are so cute! No arousal needed, just being relaxed together or skin to skin with no expectations is *chefkiss*


	18. Propose (Genyatta)

It begins with a conversation with Mondatta. 

Actually no, it begins with long discussions, unplanned and informal, with Zenyatta about the shape of their future. Over _years._ Genji's life is a continued surprise to him. His only thoughts on marriage before were- well, they occurred during his teenage years and were the sort of awful and immature memories he still cringes to recall. The Shambali can exhort the value of making peace with one's past all they want, it doesn't mean he has to like it. 

It starts with him deciding, and telling his brother (for the reaction, that's all, he doesn't need his approval and doesn't feel strangely warmed by it in the slightest. Nope.), and making a really nice plate of lunch and pot of tea for Mondatta. He might not have drawn any attention to his nerves if he hadn't opted to sit seiza while they ate and keep lapsing into his trademark thousand-yard stare. He manages to almost ask, at least explain why he's asking. 

“Genji,” Mondatta cocks his head, showing that almost-smile he's so skilled at. “Are you intimidated by me?” 

A gust of breath puffs out from his lungs. “God yes, so much.” 

Mondatta laughs like he's never heard anything so hilarious in his life, deflating Genji's spirits somewhat. He oddly takes notice of how big the man's hands are when Mondatta lightly grips his shoulder and his expression softens. “You've had it for a long time, my friend.” 

That awkwardness handled, it's time to take action. His mischievous side desperately wants to do something ridiculous just for the look on his face, but- no. It is ultimately a piece of paper, and nothing is going to change between them except those sweet tax benefits. But he wants it to make it mean something, he wants Zen to understand that he might not be completely committed to a career path or any TV series he's ever started, but he can no longer picture his life without Zenyatta in it. He's it for him, and he's going to damn well tell him so. 

He settles on a plan that is equal parts romantic and subtle. The morning of, he leaves Zenyatta to the chattering circle of monks in the main sitting room and lights some incense in the pavilion. _Kaa-san, Tou-san, I know I haven't always been a good son, or a good man, but if you've got any strength to lend me, I would really appreciate it._ He swallows hard, shivering in the cool air. _If you really are looking down on us, you'll understand._

They spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning up and knitting warm things for a homelessness initiative. Genji can only make scarves, but he tries his best. He feels eyes on his back when they leave the monastery for dinner, almost ticklish in their teasing, but he purposefully ignores them. 

Zenyatta's favourite restaurant is a tiny place with a big menu and an extended family manning the counters and kitchen. He considers popping the question there, but even in a back booth there's no privacy, no way to avoid a scene that would ruffle Zen's feathers. So he secretly orders cake on the way to the washroom and enjoys the sweet delight on his boyfriend's face, intertwining their fingers as they talk of small things. 

They walk through the park they had so often spoken in when Genji had no space to call his own, where he'd been invited to move into the monastery with perhaps less permission than Zenyatta had once led him to believe. The pathways are long and ambling, Zen looking especially adorable in his soft yellow coat and fluffy red infinity scarf, the cold flush on his cheeks tinted to rose gold by the sunset. But it's still too early, there are couples like them strolling and sitting, even children running around. Genji waits, without much difficulty, because the story Zen is telling is one he knows well for being cast in it, but it still makes him laugh every time. 

Home is best, he decides. With the door shut they can kiss, give Chuck her requisite kibble and attention, and move things to the bedroom. Genji is on a mission, so intent on pleasing Zen he can't be distracted even by his own desire. Their sheets see a lot of action, he's happy to say, but he takes his time now. Teasing and relishing every little sound, every shiver, every held gaze that ends on a gasp or another taste of swollen lips. 

“Genji- oh,” Zenyatta pants as Genji crawls back up, damp with sweat and grinning perhaps too proudly. He has a hand resting on his chest like he's some demure little thing and not at all capable of rocking Genji's world. He lets his head loll to one side, Genji kissing down his jaw and neck without him even trying to give it back. “Mm, I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” Genji breathes against his pulse, still pounding happily beneath his lips. He lingers a while longer, drafting and redrafting the words in his head. “Zenyatta, I-” 

A soft snore interrupts his words, drawing attention to the limpness of the bare body beneath him. Genji muffles a muted groan into the pillows, briefly considering waking him before curling up and deciding asking in the morning means a potential round two in the morning. He's nothing if not still greedy, his greed is just confined to the drooling, freckled man in his arms. 

Genji forgets that his body responds to stress with unconsciousness and wakes up alone and groggy. He hauls on a shirt and boxers, glasses and his leg before stumbling to the kitchen, drunk on the scent of frying food. His timing is perfect, as Zenyatta is plating his special twist on omurice he knows Genji loves maybe more than seeing colour. 

He smiles and turns around to greet him, wearing the pink apron from Hana, because of course he is. Even first thing in the morning, his gentle smile renders him resplendent, all while still in his pajamas. “Good morning, dear one. I thought we might talk over breakfast. You seemed rather preoccupied yesterday, is there something on your mind?” 

Maybe he opts for the to-hell-with-it approach that's gotten him this far, maybe a bit of K-drama energy runs through him. Whatever the case, Genji drops to one knee right then and there and takes Zen's hand. The look on his face is even more perfectly surprised than he'd envisioned, but he can't dwell on it. 

“Zenyatta,” Genji starts on a rasp. Why is he so nervous? He knows what the answer will be, hell, they have half their wedding planned in theory already. “I'm sorry I don't have a ring, but I wanted to pick them out with you and it'd be weird if you had two and I had one-” A pause, an inhale, and a tight clench of the long, heated fingers in his grasp. “I want us to grow old together, do you want that too?” 

Hanzo is going to laugh his ass off about that one, and so will Jesse, and all their friends, but he doesn't think of that now. Because Zenyatta lifts his hand with both of his and presses it over his heart, eyes half-shut with overwhelming sentiment as he replies. “More than anything I've wanted in all my life.” 

Fireworks. Flashing and colour and sparks in his head as he beams, pulling Zen in for a messy kiss before hauling himself into his lap, the two hugging each other as tight as if they hadn't seen each other in a year. He slings his legs over the arm of Zen's wheelchair and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “Am I too heavy?” 

“Never,” Zenyatta chuckles, pausing their kisses to cup Genji's face and bring their foreheads together. The dots Zenyatta paints on his forehead every week or so are beginning to wear away, but Genji never minds the stain when it does transfer. Zenyatta's thumbs brush over his cheeks with something like wonder in his eyes. He mumbles something in Nepali and giggles when Genji scrunches his brows because he only catches the prepositions and a few nouns. “I said, well, a husband is such a fine, unexpected thing to have. How generous the Iris has been in bringing you to me.” 

Genji only flushes then, brushing their lips softly together. “Other way around, Zen.” Yet more kisses, brief because they're so excited for the next one, and the one after that. Their food has probably cooled unpleasantly by now. “Jumping right to marriage, too- you want to elope or something?” 

“An entertaining idea,” Zen grins endearingly, arms looping securely around Genji's middle. “But not in our best interests, my little sparrow.” 

*** 

Mondatta stares at the picture and accompanying message as if from far away, filled with a unique contentment he wishes to enjoy for as long as possible. It's not that he is rarely happy for his brother, but the feeling is so often accompanied by worry, concern- all manner of weights that are difficult to shake off. Receiving the awaited news invokes emotion that- 

“Is there something particularly amusing about the time, brother?” Ditya leans around Reinhardt to raise her eyebrow at him, fork halfway to her mouth. 

“Not at all, it's half-past eleven,” Mondatta smirks and turns his cell phone out to face the others. “And Zenyatta said yes.” 

The other monks and Reinhardt erupt into cheers as if they're at a sporting event. Mondatta chuckles, brimming with fondness and tighter in the throat than he prefers to show. Jyoti at his side, who had once helped Zenyatta loosen stubborn baby teeth and played soccer with him in the alley behind their grandmother's home, simply leans over Mondatta's shoulder for a closer look and hums approvingly. “About time.” 

*** 

Hanzo's phone vibrates too loudly atop the washer, and he nearly shouts when he looks at it. “Oh, finally!” 

Jesse hurries to the laundry room, sticking his head in. “You found my socks?” 

“No, Genji's engaged.” 

“Well shit,” Jesse laughs, coming up to squeeze his sweatshirt-covered waist. “We should have 'em over for dinner or something, yeah?” 

“Mm, eventually,” Hanzo smirks despite the clench in his chest. Another message buzzes in to a different chat. “Mondatta and I have a lot of work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trifoilum (who is an excellent human and writes fantastic Dream Daddy fic, if anyone's interested go check them out!!) requested and y'all get to receive!   
> A different fic was supposed to go up today but my computer got a minor Trojan and crashed and I lost a page and a half of writing and had to reinstall things and it's fixed now but /flips table/   
> That fic will be for tomorrow now that I've rewritten it;;; I think this worked out better anyhow!


	19. At Home (Sojiro/Taeko & sons)

When the great house is quiet, it is almost easy for Sojiro to forget his last name. 

The Shimada family in its sprawling entirety abandons Hanamura for two weeks every August, retreating to a few adjacent summer houses in a small village up in Yamagata. He had stayed behind a day with Taeko, as she had a doctor's appointment and he knew his uncles would enjoy a day to talk among themselves. To enumerate his faults and craft ways to insinuate their ideas in ways that will make it difficult for him to refuse without appearing green or indecisive. All the while, they sincerely believe his father's playing-deaf act. Let them talk, it's nothing the two of them won't be able to sort out. Let them feel they've had their word and rest on their laurels, that's been his father's approach for almost half a century. 

But of course, while his hearing remains well, the rest of him isn't so lucky. Conversations with his father are becoming less a meeting of minds and more a performance of reassurance and having things well in hand, even- 

Sojiro's consuming thoughts are interrupted by his wife singing a counting song, and his son's full-throated giggle. He smiles and leans into the playroom doorway, almost hiding. Perhaps it is Taeko's height, but Hanzo looks so perfectly small before her, gripping his tiny fingers to hers and bouncing with each verse. Her smile is bright as she amuses him, but her eyes are sallow. 

Sojiro draws close when Hanzo races off after a colourful, button-covered toy, kissing her temple. “Why don't you go take a nap, hm?” 

“Mm, all this one has me doing is resting and running to the toilet.” Taeko smiles thinly, rubbing the barely-there roundness of her belly, sighing when Sojiro wraps his arms around her. “But I suppose I'll need it if I'm to survive your cousins.” 

“Too right,” Sojiro snorts. He kisses her again, her lips dry and stained their usual bold red. How lovely she is, even while yawning and straightening a significantly-messier-than-usual bun. Hanzo jogs back over and she sweetly ruffles his hair before standing and yawning again. Sojiro holds his arms out. “Come here, we're going to play outside while your mother rests.” 

Hanzo is oddly hesitant for a toddler, though Sojiro supposes it's a blessing. He's nearly shy when he lets himself be picked up, but nestles in just as quickly. The weight of him in his arms and the strong grip on his shirt reminds Sojiro that he is growing. It seems mere weeks since he was determined to crawl forward and could only go backwards, much to his tiny frustration. Fatherhood has rendered him terribly sentimental. “I wish you could stay this little.” 

“No,” Hanzo replies in quiet defiance around his thumb. “I gotta get tall.” 

“Oh? What for?” 

“So I can fight bad guys,” Hanzo answers plainly and resumes staring off into space. Sojiro chuckles, wishing he could know what goes on in that quiet head. Once inside the inner courtyard, he sets Hanzo down on the grass and settles on a bench, watching him run around while he lights a cigarette. The space is large and well-landscaped, filled with decorative boulders and an antique wooden bridge stretching from one wing of the house to another. Hanzo seems to enjoy it more than the playground at times. 

He jogs up with a red speckled stone in hand, shoes tapping on the flagstone path until he stops and carefully sets it on the end of the bench. “What's that?” 

Hanzo looks up at him and nods seriously. “A good one.” 

Sojiro draws in more smoke to hide his laughter, lest his son feel mocked. He picks it up and feigns a thorough inspection of it. “Ah, so it is.” 

Hanzo trots away to play in the dirt again, but is soon drawn to the pond and Sojiro's beside him at once. The sunlight sparkling off the water only increases the temptation, and he's not up for a soggy repeat of last time. His hand is firm in front of the boy's stomach, one finger looped around his overall strap as he leans far over the edge, watching colourful koi dance beneath the water's surface. “Can I pet the fish?” 

“No, they don't like it.” 

“But what if they're lonely?” 

Sojiro smiles, trying to settle himself more comfortably against the rocks, sweat sticking under his arms. Their dry cleaner can take care of these clothes while he's gone. “They aren't, they have lots of friends in there.” 

Hanzo frowns up at him and damn, if it isn't his wife staring right back. The softened edges of childhood and lighter eyes take little away from the effect. How lucky he is to have Taeko recreated in miniature. His son over-enunciates a word recently learned and not fully understood. “Do you promise?” 

Sojiro ducks his head, laughing quietly against Hanzo's scalp. He's all Taeko here, too. Hair fluffing out in every direction like a baby chick, as opposed to his own which grows skyward without the right haircut and no small amount of gel. “Yes, I promise.” 

Hanzo soon tires in the heat, and Sojiro even feels sluggish carrying him back in. He turns up the aircon with impunity, his parents gone with the others. Dinner revives them all temporarily, but Hanzo starts nodding off when it hits his stomach, a hot and unpleasant summer drizzle beginning outside as clouds cover the sun. 

Taeko smiles when Hanzo wearily presents his head for a good-night kiss. The boy suddenly perks up, as if remembering something, and digs something out of his pocket. Presenting to her an oblong, grape-sized rock with the clear impression of a shell in its centre. “Oh, a fossil! Did you find that in the garden?” 

Hanzo nods, eyes aglow with pride. “For the baby.” 

“How sweet, they can play with it when they're older.” She captures her son's cheeks with a pinch of her sharp, rouged fingertips, kissing his nose before he can wriggle away. “You're going to be a good big brother, aren't you?” 

Hanzo uses up the last of his enthusiasm on a fervent nod, out before Sojiro even makes it to the bedroom, tucking him in and tip-toeing away. In his absence, Taeko has stretched her legs out on the couch, shawl pulled around her shoulders as she watches the rain pick up outside, thunder rumbling distantly. He slots himself behind her, arms sliding around her middle and lips finding the nape of her neck, making her hum. “Aiming for twins, are we?” 

Sojiro groans and drops his head against her shoulder. “Can't a man be affectionate with his wife without being accused like that?” 

He can hear the glinting smile in her voice without seeing it. “I didn't say stop.” 

“Oh,” He raises his head, grinning to match as he leans in. “Well, in that case-” 

A loud and much nearer crack of thunder startles them both, the lights flickering briefly. A distinct, distressed cry echoes down the hall and the two sigh, Sojiro patting her hip. “I've got it this time.” 

He finds his son balled up under the duvet, wailing with each crash of lightning. Close together, they illuminate the dark room in white flashes. Sojiro puts on the lamp and kneels down, extracting Hanzo from the covers only for him to Velcro himself to his chest. “Now, what's all this crying about?” Hanzo sobs as the thunder roars, shaking his head in lieu of an answer. Sojiro cradles him close and rubs his back. “The storm can't hurt us in here. The dragons are protecting us, remember?” 

Hanzo peeps out to press tiny fingers to Sojiro's bared wrist, the ink he so loves to trace with intense curiosity. Lightning flashes again and Hanzo whimpers and turns away. “B-but I don't h-have a dragon!” 

“You'll have your own when you're old enough to grow a beard,” Sojiro soothes, stroking Hanzo's hair. “But they protect you still. Didn't I tell you the story of when the Dragon Brothers trapped a storm beneath the sea?” 

Hanzo looks up, eyes all red and nose running, he mumbles a 'no.' Sojiro lays Hanzo back on one arm, picking up his stuffed wolf and pressing it to his chest. Hanzo hiccups and grips the toy fiercely with both arms as his father thumbs his tears away, sweeps back his hair. “Well, now I have to tell you.” 

He weaves the tale in a low voice, making up details on the fly without losing the thread, the storm outside a theatrical soundtrack to suit. He had enjoyed making up stories as a young child, though they were usually his own version of television shows he enjoyed. As simple and contradictory as his made-up legends might be, Hanzo always listens raptly. He starts to shut his eyes, only to jerk awake several times over, intent on listening to the end. 

Sojiro chuckles under his breath, slowing the story to a crawl as he strokes his fingers over Hanzo's forehead as gently as he can manage. That does the trick, the boy dropping off at last and looking so peaceful, the thunder a faint growl now. He sets him down, pulling the covers up with utmost care, kissing the still good-smelling crown of his head and turning off the light. 

He finds Taeko in the hallway, though all they share is a knowing smile and the linking of fingers as she leads him back to the parlour. She fits herself against his back now on the couch, enjoy the closeness of the dim room a moment before asking. “You know what they're going to say about the new purchase.” 

“They can say whatever they will,” Sojiro replies, disdain on his tongue. Every year he loses a little more respect. He worries what will become of him by his father's age. “It is done, and I'll be proven right in when the profits roll in.” 

“You will be,” Taeko's smile is all teeth against his neck. “I still can't believe you pulled that off. They might as well have handed the place to you with a ribbon tied on it.” 

“There is value in occasionally playing the fool,” Sojiro laughs low. “So long as no one else sees and you want what you get.” 

“They are fools to underestimate you,” Taeko says, then her voice softens. “But still, it's troublesome to put up with their needling.” 

Sojiro nods, he can hardly disagree. The Shimada family is the beginning and the end of all their work, and yet so many of its members seemed intent on sucking his soul out through his ears, despite their best intentions for him. 

“All the more reason to show up relaxed tomorrow.” Her hands reach around, long fingers deftly undoing his buttons one at a time. “Smile at them, show that you know how they talk and aren't bothered by it. That will earn their respect in time.” 

Sojiro purposefully clears his throat as she pulls his shirt open and hungrily strokes her hands over his bared chest. “You know, Taeko, I can't help but feel that isn't your only intention here.” 

“Really?” She gasps, yanking the silk button-up down his arms until both wrists are freed. “I don't know where you could have gotten such a notion.” 

Sojiro turns with a smile, pressing her down as her hands reach up and mess his hair beyond saving. He pulls back a moment, drawing a finger along her broad jaw and finding her deep eyes so kind and adoring, hair falling splendidly loose atop the cushions. That such a remarkable woman should be at his side, should be a friend to his mind no matter how the horizon darkens or how he fails, still. She's giving him another child after the one he adores more than he ever thought he could. That he should care for them as they grow, look after her as they turn grey- 

“You stare too much, you know that?” Taeko snaps him back to reality, eyebrows raised and her expression less alluring and more questioning his sanity. It's a familiar look to him, by now. 

Sojiro chuckles to himself and leans down, mindful of her stomach as he kisses her again. “I can't help it, you're beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another opportunity to indulge my niche ship and show off where Hanzo and Genji got their personalities from!   
> They're good parents and have a great marriage, too bad they make all their money from illegal gambling and loan sharking, whoops   
> Important!: I commissioned neal-illustrator on tumblr a lil while back and not only did they listen to my ridiculous headcanons about these two, LOOK AT WHAT THEY DREW: https://neal-illustrator.tumblr.com/post/178949629368/shimada-mama-and-papa-commissioned-for   
> PERFECTION   
> Follow for awesome art and consider commissioning them if you're interested! They were wonderful to work with, AND LOOK HOW GOOD LIKE D A N G


	20. Adjusting (McHanzo NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anal sex, toys, a touch of self-image struggles

“Living with Zen, it's hard not to feel like any amount of stuff is too much stuff, you know?” Genji gestures animatedly as he shakes out another plastic bag. “He's such a minimalist. It's inspiring, but it also kind of gives me anxiety.” 

“I can imagine.” Hanzo hums, indeed finding very little of Zenyatta's in the closet. His own home is much more a fifty-fifty split between his and Jesse's things, though it would be seventy-thirty if it weren't for his art supplies, Jesse having a weakness for knick-knacks that Hanzo does not share but strangely appreciates. As he passes Genji a stack of t-shirts to keep, give away, or shred into rags, he finds a pair of wedge-shaped pillows, one small and one large. When he picks up the smaller one, he finds it as soft and pliable as an overpriced mattress. “What are these for? Your computer chair?” 

Genji glances over, executive dysfunction ratcheted up from the growing piles on his bed. “Oh, no, they're for sex.” 

Hanzo drops it immediately and scrubs his hand on his jeans while his brother cackles. “Calm down, we wash the covers afterwards! They're for-” 

Hanzo firmly holds up his hand. “I'm not telling you again. I don't care how great and self-actualized it is, I don't want to hear about you and your boyfriend knocking boots.” 

“Pft, fine then.” Genji snorts, leaning into his brother's personal space close enough to bump shoulders. “I won't tell you that they're really handy if oh, say, one or both of you don't have four fully-functional limbs with which to comfortably hold yourselves up?” 

Hanzo stills, holding a stack of comic books retrieved from the tote box in the closet. Genji teeth gleam in the corner of his vision. “And I definitely won't tell you that you can buy them for a half-decent price at the good sex store beside the wedding boutique downtown.” 

Hanzo exhales through his nose, purposefully not smiling when he flicks his eyes over to Genji. “I don't appreciate this information in the slightest.” 

“You're not welcome,” Genji pats his back, his expression almost punchably smug. “And I don't at all enjoy the stupid faces you make when you're uncomfortable.” 

*** 

He specifically purchases a different colour covering, but when it comes down to using it, his brother is certainly the furthest thing from his mind. 

Hanzo avoids facing Jesse if his prosthetics are off. He doesn't enjoy thinking of himself as vain or self-conscious, but he feels- comical, almost, with so much of himself missing. His self-image is cartoonish at times, not attractive. Logically, he realizes it's ridiculous, bordering on selfish. But it makes itself known in its impracticality. He's dependent on his back and arms to hold himself up, and with Jesse down an arm, some positions are too limiting or make them more sore than is worthwhile. On top of the occasional spasms and flares of nerve pain they're both prone to, frankly it all gets to be goddamned annoying. 

But with the larger wedge lifting his hips for him, and the small one to prop up his head and shoulders- 

“ _Fuck._ ” Hanzo breathes, his nails biting into Jesse's chest as those proud hips rock slowly into him. He blindly fumbles along sweat-slick, tense skin until he finds the leather harness snug beneath his belly and tugs hard. “Move, damn you. I'm dying here.” 

Jesse laughs roughly, far from unaffected himself. “You got it, sugar.” 

The angle is absolutely perfect, the cushion height just right for Jesse's long, powerful legs. Hanzo is already half-melted into the fabric from his boyfriend's thorough attentions, only needing to focus on spreading his thighs wider and getting his hands all over any part of Jesse he can reach. He let Hanzo pick out his most recent cock, slender and solid but with enough give to grip down on as he's filled. He's teased him before about his good sense of rhythm carrying over into the bedroom, but fuck, Jesse certainly took that as encouragement. 

Jesse's hand grips the base of his thigh almost to bruising, dragging himself out achingly slow before slamming home quickly. Hanzo's hand flies to his own cock, jerking himself messily as Jesse taunts him with long strokes. He leans back, pushing in right against Hanzo's prostate and grinning when he startles a moan from him. “That's it, baby. Say my name.” 

“You're such an ass,” Hanzo scoffs, wiping his sweaty bangs away and pulling at his own nipple. He wants him, wants more, needs it now. 

“Close enough.” Jesse chuckles and dips down, kissing him wet and sloppy. He sighs when Hanzo sucks on his lip as they part, looking at him with curious eyes. “Want to try the vibe?” 

Hanzo considers as best he can and nods, knowing neither of them will go to bed disappointed if it's not for them. Jesse kisses him so sweet and stands up fully again, pulling halfway out to reach for the little compartment in the- 

Hanzo's eyes nearly pop out of his head when the bullet vibe buzzes to life. Jesse groans beautifully, laying across him and rutting clumsily to get as deep as he can, gasping against Hanzo's neck. It's so much sensation at once, blanketing him in pleasure, and it's so fucking good. He'll come twice, if Jesse can keep pounding him long enough, he's sure of it. 

Jesse's hips start slapping against him in earnest again, and no, he's not going to come twice, he's going to die, but at least he'll die happy. He reaches over his head and twists his hands in the sheets, pulling them free of the mattress. “Yes, yes- keep going, fuck, don't stop- _mm._ ” 

Hanzo's mouth is captured by Jesse, beards scraping together as he keens against his lips, unable to hold back. His hands grip Jesse's face and hold him there as they strain against each other, his cock leaking and damn near throbbing between their bellies. He wants to come, wants to feel him come, he wants- “Jesse, please-” 

“I got you, angel,” Jesse's voice is a rasp against Hanzo's ear. He leans up, letting Hanzo brace his hands against his shoulders so he can pull him off while riding his ass good and hard. “I got you.” 

Afterwards, Hanzo lounges like the pillow princess he occasionally is while Jesse cleans up. He hums at the brush of Jesse's fingers against his hip. “Your legs are still shakin', what did I do to you?” 

Hanzo smirks, stretching and enjoying the warmth lingering throughout his body. “What didn't you do to me?” 

Jesse huffs a fond laugh, bending to lift Hanzo off the cushions so they can be tossed into the wash-tomorrow corner. Hanzo takes the opportunity to thread his fingers through Jesse's soft hair and kiss him several times over. “Oh, Jesse, Jesse.” He chuckles as his lover brushes a ticklish smooch beneath his jaw, not letting him go. “My Jesse.” 

“That's right,” Jesse's eyes shine beneath his lashes, pressing another kiss to Hanzo's forehead. He stands and reaches for his old serape on the shelf built into the wall above their bed, laying it over Hanzo and snickering when he wraps himself greedily in the heavy red fabric. He loves the smell and softness of it, will steal it all day while Jesse's at work. 

Jesse comes around to the other side of the bed and cracks the window, sitting on the edge, one foot planted on the floor as he lights up a cigarillo. Hanzo hauls himself over, laying his head in Jesse's lap, nuzzling against his stomach. “Smells different, is that a new brand?” 

“Yeah, they didn't have my usual.” Jesse passes it off to him when he rolls onto his back. 

He tastes sweetness as he exhales the smoke, watching the rings fade above them. “Hm, not bad.” 

“God, y'look sexy like that,” Jesse remarks lowly, taking it back and seeming to enjoy the next drag. 

“Don't. I can't handle another round.” Hanzo smiles, rolling lazily back onto his side and kissing low between Jesse's legs, just above the base of his dick. “I doubt you can either, hm?” 

A shiver runs through him, Hanzo grinning when he feels it. “Hell no, shop's closed for the night.” 

Jesse eventually stubs out his smoke in the ashtray, the two of them quickly arranging themselves as they linger between sleep and wakefulness. Jesse faces him, hand on his hip, enjoying the the slow, exploring touches for now. They always end up loosely spooning by night's end, Hanzo fitted to Jesse's back. 

His lover drags the covers up, snuggling them in. Hanzo limply rubs Jesse's back, distracted by the odd feeling of the rumpled duvet and blankets laying through his phantom limbs. Angela said that it had to do with the neural map and that phantoms sometimes 'shrink' with time, but his never have. He can feel them just as if they were still there, and yet- 

He nudges Jesse's cheek with his nose to get his attention. “Do you ever feel your left arm- pass through things? I don't know how to explain it exactly.” 

“Eh? Oh, yeah, always.” Jesse scratches tiredly at his neck, prompting Hanzo to brush dry lips over the scruffy, sensitive skin. “I've finally gotten used to it, but if I think about it- like right now, it's inside your shoulder.” 

Hanzo nods, then another thought occurs to him and he bites off a laugh. Trying to suppress it is hopeless, he ends up shaking against Jesse's chest. “What's so funny?” Hanzo shakes his head, covering his mouth as the hilarity escapes him. His lover tuts, nudging his face up to squint at him. “C'mon, Han, what's-” 

Hanzo manages a barely coherent wheeze in between bursts of helpless snorts. “Does this count as fisting?-” 

“Oh, for-” Jesse crawls on top of him when he loses it, falling back and letting a few tears stream. “You think you're a real comedian, don't ya?” 

Hanzo only laughs more, tasting Jesse's grin when he's kissed. To end up clasped in a strong arm, half-delirious and without any discomfort save for a faint, pleasant ache and the beard burn between his thighs, Hanzo can't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give some credit to Oh Joy Sex Toy for inspiring a lot of these spicier chapters. Great comic, don't open it at work!   
> Also the science behind phantom limbs is /so interesting/. There's a recent TED-ED video about it, check it out if you're a science dork like me!


	21. Yes, No, Maybe (Genyatta, NSFWish)

Zenyatta tries not to think of it as giving Genji homework, though that does indulge a certain fantasy of his that he is somewhat loath to admit to after his years as a TA. But then, Genji is a much more better student for him. 

His interest does deflate when he sees how many pages his assignment is, but judging by his texts later than night, Genji is not at all bored by the content. 

“You printed these at work?” Genji's eyes widen over his rectangular glasses, pho noodles sliding back into his bowl. 

“We don't have a printer at the monastery.” Zenyatta shrugs nonchalantly, popping another vegetarian spring roll into his mouth and speaking behind his hand. “Besides, we use some of the same sheets in our healthy sexuality workshops, I just made extras for myself.” 

“You never fail to surprise me, Zen.” Genji grins, shaking his head and sipping his water. “I had to Google some of the stuff in there, it was a little wild.” 

“Indeed, but it covers the full spectrum, no?” The two laugh, Zen resting his chin on one hand. “What did you make of it? Be honest, I was worried you might be put off.” 

“Um, it was pretty cool? Some stuff had me like-” Genji mimes repulsion and Zen can't help but giggle. “But I mean, you saw my answers. I've- never given sex that much thought, I guess? I just did it. It was actually nice to reflect on a lot of things, but I feel like I'm not done.” 

“Of course, none of us will ever be 'done.' You'll evolve and change for the rest of your life, in all areas, we all will.” Zen's smile softens at the edges. He had enjoyed Genji's thoughtful responses on an intellectual as well as an erotic level. Body boundaries, safety, acts- the sheets covered everything. It was like throwing a door open and finding a hidden garden blooming with possibilities. 

Zenyatta lets Genji finish another mouthful before reaching out and touching his hand. “Is there anything else you'd like to share with me?” 

They had read each other's sheets in private, so that they had time to sit with their feelings before talking about them. Zenyatta waits, holding the space while Genji pushes up his glasses. “Well, I think I maybe misunderstood it a bit? Like when it came to the doing things _to_ someone, I didn't know what you were comfortable with- but then I realized when I got yours back that they're meant to be more of a Venn diagram thing. Guess I was a little slow on the uptake, there.” 

“Not at all.” Zenyatta nibbles happily on his egg noodles. “We don't have to go over it all again, but would it be safe to assume that some of your maybe's might be yes's under the right circumstances?” 

Genji nods, wearing a very boyish and terribly endearing smile. “I might redo it, just so we know what's on the table.” 

“How eager of you,” Zenyatta answers over the rim of his glass, sharing a wanting gaze with Genji. The staff here tended to tease them on their way out, tonight would surely be no different. “Now, tell me something, what's the most interesting thing you learned from my sheets?” 

“Oh,” Genji plays with his food, the very tips of his ears turning pink. He lowers his voice, though they purposefully picked a table far from the other patrons, not difficult on an uneventful Monday night. “That you- want to watch me get myself off.” 

“Good,” Zenyatta smiles, chewing his food thoroughly as though they're having any other conversation. “What else?” 

The flush spreads, Genji's voice uncharacteristically nervous. “That you'd like to try tying me up sometime?” 

“With sufficient rope and privacy, yes, and the other way around.” Zen chuckles, but keeps his face kind. “What was the biggest thing you noticed? A running theme, if you will.” 

Genji is bright, his mind often stuck on fast-forward but always sharp. Zenyatta sees recognition in his lowered eyes, though he seems hesitant, speaking half into his fist. “You like it- you enjoy it the most when I'm- enjoying myself.” 

“Ding ding ding,” Zenyatta replies mildly, breaking the tension and laughing along with his lover. The closeness of the corner table lets him rest his hand upon Genji's knee without worry of drawing attention. “Now you understand why I was so excited to find out you like being praised. We're well-suited for each other in many ways, I think.” 

Genji ducks his head, looking towards the wall, and a red flag raises in Zen's mind. Before he can speak up, Genji mutters, stuffing more food in his mouth. “Isn't it kind of weird, though? If I like that, specifically- what does that say about me?” 

“Nothing negative, certainly.” Zenyatta smiles, mindful to keep pity from his tone. Would that he could ease his lover's mind with a wave of his hand, chase away the darkness that doggedly pursues his thoughts, but nothing is so easy. “If you'll spare me a moment of philosophizing, stripped to its bones, sex is merely adult play. As children, we play all sorts of games to understand ourselves and others, or to simply use our imagination to explore ideas beyond reality.” 

Genji turns his head at that, he's grown rapidly into a good listener. His eyes help, lovely and deep, the brown of his irises catching any light and holding it beautifully. Even in a crowded room, to make eye contact with him is to have an audience of one. “As we mature, we're able to use our bodies and minds in much more complex ways, but the purpose remains the same.” 

Genji huffs, an amused smile peeping out, the scar on his lip caught between his teeth. “You really think so?” 

“I do. Think about it, what does a child feel when they're pretending to be a superhero?” Zen gestures with his chopsticks, trying to finish his noodles before they get cold. “They feel in control, powerful, safe- things they may not always get to feel in their everyday life.” 

Genji hums, drumming his fingers on the table, wheels turning in his head. “So sex is just the grown-up way of playing pretend and dissociating from the rest of our lives? That's a pretty cynical outlook.” 

“It doesn't have to be,” Zenyatta inclines his head, absently tracing his fingers over the denim covering Genji's thigh. “For one, the feelings are very real. If sex is a way for you to let someone else genuinely take care of you, that need will still be met once the play ends. It's far from completely separate, unlike children's games. Sexual intimacy has the potential for much larger impacts, both good and bad.” 

Genji hums and nods, still thinking. Zenyatta squeezes his knee affectionately and retreats, continuing. “But as in childhood, it can be a temporary distraction or it can be a way to connect and build. It depends on who is involved and what they want.” 

“Huh,” Genji takes a gulp of his water, eyes mindful of any waitstaff rushing over to refill his glass. “I've never looked at it that way. I should have known you'd have some wisdom to dispense about this, too.” 

Zenyatta flushes faintly himself and laughs, flapping his hand dismissively. “Oh no, I can't claim any credit for that. It's a paraphrased passage from one of Mondatta's books. He was going to cut the whole section, but I encouraged him to leave it in.” Zen takes a long sip of his drink, his mouth pulling to one side. “And that's the section people cite when they're claiming the Shambali are some kind of crazed sex cult. He likes to remind me of that now and again.” 

Genji snort-laughs, quickly covering his mouth. “I can't believe people actually believe that.” 

“They believe and write lengthy forum posts about it, it seems,” Zenyatta sighs, returning to his mind to more approachable topics. “Is there anything else you're worried about, dear one?” 

“No, no, it's just-” Genji rubs the side of his neck, frowning a bit. “I don't want this- any of this, to be all about me. I don't want to be selfish anymore. And that's not me being down on myself, I'm being sincere.” 

“Of course,” Zenyatta nods seriously, watching him pick at the last of his food. “It won't be. It's not as if we'll be doing one particular thing every time, we have quite an interesting list now of all the things we can do.” The two share a soft laugh, barely audible over a broken-down car rumbling down the street outside. “But if there are nights where I want to take care of you, and you enjoy being taken care of, there's no reason for us not to seize the opportunity.” 

Genji hums, sipping off the last of his broth and quickly scrubbing his lips on the napkin. “I just don't want you to think less of me.” 

“I would never.” Zenyatta shakes his head and thinks a moment, eyes wandering while Genji checks his phone. “Do you remember when I mistakenly called you naive?” 

“Oh, yeah, I was in a sour mood that day. Sorry for-” 

“I shouldn't have said it like that, but I meant it as in the art form, not the insult.” Zenyatta clasps Genji's hand in his, running his thumb along his knuckles. The scars are fainter here, little asterisks from teenage fights and athletic accidents. “You have an inimitable honesty, which I am envious of at times. You don't deceive, you show everyone exactly who you are and how you feel about them, unless you wish to hide it.” Zen's tone turns cheeky now, feeling Genji's fingers squeeze him back as they grin knowingly. “And I would hope that you have nothing to hide from me by now.” 

“I really don't,” Genji laughs, eyes lingering on Zen's lips. “I don't want to hide anything from you, that's a first for me.” 

“For me, as well.” Zenyatta chuckles, then slides his fingers over Genji's wrist, tickling the green-inked skin beneath his sweater sleeve. “That's applicable to the bedroom as well, you are always so wonderfully honest about how good you feel.” 

Genji's chopsticks slip from his hand, one rolling pitifully onto the floor with a little clatter. His partner pretends to glare at him, ears still deep red as he crosses his legs. “I hate when you do this to me.” 

Zenyatta laughs mirthfully, resting his chin on his fist and staring right into Genji's eyes, raising one eyebrow. “Do you?” 

Genji's mouth falls open to speak when the waitress appears, one of the cheery aunt-types that often sends them home with extra food. “Anything else I can get for you two?” 

“Oh, just the bill, please,” Zenyatta smiles politely, still holding Genji's hand which prompts a little smirk on the woman's red lips. “All together, thank you.” 

“Not a problem, back in one moment!” 

Genji waits until the woman hurries off to smirk and study Zen curiously, hunger in his eyes. “Take me out to talk about what you want to do to me and then pay for dinner? You're much kinkier than I thought.” 

Zenyatta laughs, reluctantly releasing Genji to dig in his bag for his wallet. “Actually, much like my pursuit of your pleasure, this is for my own enjoyment as well.” Zen reaches up, feigning fixing an earring to conceal his own inexplicable shyness. “I wanted to do something special for our six months-aversary, but ah- I thought it might seem frivolous.” 

“Oh!” Genji perks up, busying himself by retrieving the chopstick and pulling his jacket on. “No, no, that's really nice! Sorry, I er, I didn't remember, I should have but- I'm new at this. I guess that's still my excuse.” 

“We both are,” Zenyatta reassures gently. His own romantic history had yet to contain anything as long or lovely as his time with Genji, and he hopes it will continue, however green and fragile they might be at this moment. 

“I want to do something for you too,” Genji insists once they pay, grab their requisite takeaway container, and head out into the freezing snow and wind. The bus stop luckily has a shelter which helps to somewhat buffer the cold. “Is there anything you'd like? I've been told my massages are four-point-five star-worthy.” 

Zenyatta laughs, accepting the weight and warmth of Genji's head on his shoulder. “I would rather you simply come back home with me. There's little I enjoy more than sleeping with you in my arms.” 

“Ah yes, cuddling, your least secret desire,” Genji huffs against Zenyatta's coat, rising up to kiss a cold cheek. “We'll find our own place soon, I'm sure of it.” 

Zenyatta sighs, weariness and chill mixing with fondness and hope. At least he can kiss his boyfriend, though not as deeply as he'd like to yet. “Indeed, we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write all my shipped characters as switches because that's generally more realistic (IMHO, and I'm only speaking in broad strokes) than strict Top/Bottom dynamics but uh, Zenyatta's a bit of a service top, pass it on  
> Genji still carries some baggage from the hyper-masculine environment he was raised in, so being even very mildly submissive sexually makes him feel guilty/inadequate/passive/etc. He's working on it <3  
> I used the Scarleteen and Bex Talks Sex Yes, No, Maybe lists for reference, and they're both good in different ways! Zen using them with Genji was too on-brand for him not to pass up  
> Talking to your partners is good and doesn't have to be weird! Even when feelings happen, that's what support is for <3


	22. A Meeting of Minds (Hanzo & Mondatta)

Hanzo arrives alone at the monastery, some months after his initial visit. Fallen leaves scrape along the empty road, the breeze adding a shiver to the otherwise warm and sunny day. He is greeted by Sita before he can reach the door. Or rather, he's greeted by a spotted potbelly pig, and Sita is at the other end of the leash. 

“Her name is Pepper, she's going to eat our compost!” The young monk beams while Hanzo's boots are thoroughly sniffed. “She's friendly, you can say hello.” 

Hanzo looks down with some apprehension. “Hello, Pepper.” 

Peppers politely oinks. 

Sita lets him in and directs him towards the main rooms, for which Hanzo is grateful. He doesn't quite remember how to get around the place, the decor is such that all the halls and doors look the same. On the way to the kitchen, Mondatta comes striding out, a pinch in his brow as he speaks quickly. “I'll be with you in just a moment.” 

Hanzo's jaw tightens immediately with regret. “Ah, I can leave if you're busy. It's no trouble-” 

Mondatta pauses, holding up a hand and appearing contrite. “Forgive me, it's not that I do not wish to see you. It's only that I have a binder to strip off and it's not going to be pretty. Do you mind to wait ten minutes?” 

Hanzo shakes his head. “Not at all.” 

Mondatta waves him on and Hanzo passes through the dining area, stacked high on every surface with empty mason jars. One or more of the monks must be excited for canning season. He finds the sitting room that faces the back field and sits cross-legged at the low table. He examines the wood- fine and hand-crafted by the looks of it -all while still wondering the reason for the invitation. 

The man reappears, sheathed in a long, white cable-knit sweater that bunches at his wrists and carrying a tea tray, sitting with a pleasant sigh and smoothing his robes over his legs. Hanzo offers a smile and thanks for the steaming mug held out to him. “Better?” 

“Much, thank you,” Mondatta chuckles, blowing on his own chiya, every movement gilded with calm and grace. “We have designated Friday as our rest day, but the rest of the world does not adhere to our schedule, so sometimes I must cheat. I plan on being a homebody until the interfaith committee meeting on Sunday, at least.” 

“I'm sure that will make up for it,” Hanzo nods. “I don't have much time on my days off either, so I understand.” 

“Yes, Genji tells me you're studying fine arts. How is that going?” 

“Ah, it's more of a hobby,” Hanzo thins his lips. “But I find it more fulfilling than my actual job, so I have kept on with it.” 

“Don't diminish it if it brings you happiness,” Mondatta admonishes kindly, picking up a biscuit with delicate fingers and dunking it in his tea, much to Hanzo's surprise. He owes Jesse a very specific apology. “And please, be at ease. There's no need to be on your best behaviour, I invited you here because I thought we might enjoy each other's company.” 

That would put him in a rare category indeed if that were so, Hanzo thinks reflexively, quickly shaking it off. Mondatta's eyes are of the same penetrating quality as his younger brother's, and if he was told they possessed telepathy, he might well believe it. “My apologies, this is not where I would typically find myself.” 

“Try not to think of it as a holy place. It is primarily our home, and it is not so unlike any other.” Mondatta thumbs a few crumbs from his lip, a faint smile curling up. “I hope you find comfort here in time, given that we might well become in-laws at the rate things are going.” 

“What a concept,” Hanzo chuckles in disbelief, helping himself to the simple sugary treats. “I hope Genji hasn't worn out his welcome yet.” 

“Oh, not at all. I was sincere when last we spoke, your brother has been a respectful member of our household all along. If anything, he was excessively quiet at times. I get the impression he's been a bit afraid of me from the start.” 

“I can't imagine why,” Hanzo replies when he can and does. 

“He's not the only one, many people seem needlessly intimidated on our first meeting,” Mondatta sighs, taking a lengthy sip. “Zenyatta says it's because I need to work on my 'resting bitchface,' but I don't know how much credence to put in that.” 

Hanzo very narrowly avoids a spit take. “Pardon?” 

“Is it so surprising?” Mondatta arches his thin eyebrow magnificently. “Zenyatta may play innocent well but do not be fooled, he was born with a sharp tongue. He saves it mostly for me, of course.” 

“Perhaps he and Genji are more similar than I first thought,” Hanzo huffs, brushing his bangs back. “It's hard to picture him saying something like that.” 

“He has an endless supply of such remarks, I assure you. He's also been fond of flipping me off when no one else is looking, and that's carried over into his adulthood.” Mondatta looks off into the yellowing field, the afternoon's warmth filtering into the room, resting his cheek on his fist. “You know, he once promised to pants me during a speech. He's never rescinded that threat, so I continue to live in fear.” 

Hanzo barks a laughs, shaking his head. “I can't believe it.” 

“Oh, he's an absolute menace when he wants to be.” Mondatta's grin shows itself, toothy and stiff. “I believe little brothers are sent to us as great trials to improve our character, I'm sure you can agree.” 

“Indeed,” Hanzo smiles, cold fingers curling around the heated ceramic. “Still, you seem close.” 

“Very much so,” Mondatta nods, fondness alighting in his grey eyes. “As you and Genji are as well.” 

Hanzo hates that he cannot stop his stomach from drawing up tight beneath his ribs, nor the creases from his forehead. “Ah, it's not quite the same.” 

“Of course, you're much closer in age.” Mondatta's expression is warm and convivial. Hanzo has never been so grateful for a wise man's ignorance. “I was Zenyatta's guardian for a time after our grandmother passed away. That was difficult for us both, and I'm sure it will always colour our relationship for better or for worse. At least it explains why he feels the pull to be so bratty with me at times.” 

Hanzo snickers lightly, but curiosity, or simple nosiness, wins out. “How old were you?” 

“Zenyatta was twelve, so I was scarcely a man myself. Our order was newly formed, many things changed in what felt like an especially long year.” Mondatta reaches for another biscuit, eyes lowered. “I tease, but he had every right to grow frustrated with me. I was young and foolish, my time was spread too thin, but I was still arrogant enough to think I could fill that space all on my own. I missed much in the attempt.” 

Hanzo glances off, a twinge of sympathetic ache in his chest. The period of time he and Genji were without their parents was- brief. And they had around-the-clock staff, and Genji was nearly an adult himself, if not a very responsible one. Not that he- “I am sorry to hear that, it sounds very difficult.” 

“It was. I came up short in a thousand different ways.” Mondatta's expression hardens briefly, more reminiscent of the National Geographic photos Hanzo has glimpsed him in, but the small smile returns. “And I will continue to, of that I have no doubt. But he is still here. For that, I am forever grateful.” 

The acidic knot returns, though Hanzo tries to smile and nod. He is much less sure of himself, with good reason. Forever caught between being certain that Genji would have been better off never running into him, and keenly remembering the exquisite pain of missing someone for ten years. To lose him in any capacity would be- 

“Liebling!” Reinhardt shakes the floor when he steps onto the porch, holding what appears to be a miniature Gothic mansion by its base. “What do you think?- Ah, Hanzo! How are you, my friend?” 

Hanzo mutters something neutral and amicable, a bit shaken by the slap on the shoulder he receives in greeting. “You- made that?” 

“For little Brigitte's birthday!” The mountainous man beams with pride as he kneels beside Mondatta's cushion. The birdhouse, recognizable for its round entrances throughout, looks more like an expensive doll's house that would be kept behind glass at a museum. “Have to keep myself busy while this one's at home.” 

Mondatta regards the craft with an impressed hum and studious eyes. “Well done, but perhaps one more layer of paint. Some varnish as well, I would hate for your hard work to fade in the sun. I think sister Shing has some left in the cabinet.” 

“Right you are,” Reinhardt grins, pinching wool between his thumb and forefinger and tugging slightly. “And is my sweater warm enough, you little sneak-thief?” 

“It is not theft if I intend to return it, but yes.” Mondatta smirks, kissing the whiskery cheek presented to him. “I will see you at supper. Please ask Yungchen to fix a plate for our guest.” 

Reinhardt quickly returns the gesture to the monk's temple and clears the room in a few steps, singing some strange melody to himself as he goes. The bliss in Mondatta's eyes quickly clears when he visibly recalls that someone else is in the room, clearing his throat. “You can say it, I know we're an odd couple.” 

“I'm in no position to talk.” Hanzo chuckles, recalling the plaid-covered man who sang half the Rainbow album in his shower this morning, kissed him senseless before leaving for work, setting two stuffed bagels on the nightstand on his way out. “And I appreciate your kindness, but I cannot stay. I work this evening.” 

“Not to worry, we specialize in to-go plates. Your brother never leaves without one.” 

“I still owe you many thanks for feeding him,” Hanzo smiles, gladly accepting a refill. He was becoming a proper tea fiend once again. “I worry about his diet these days, he's always rushing to work after class.” 

“I know, Zenyatta concerns me too. He told me he rarely gets proper lunch break to himself these days.” Mondatta sighs, mouth pulling tight on a frown. “I warned him about giving away too much of himself, and his response?” He mimes a look of displeased incredulity and changes his tone. “'Well, I wonder where I ever could have learned that from?'” 

Hanzo tuts, groaning a bit. “I've gotten that one, too, in different words.” 

“Having someone worry about you is a gift rarely appreciated,” Mondatta affirms, shaking his head. They sit in a peaceable silence for a moment or two, the distant woods adding pleasant background noise, better than the loops Hanzo plays while drawing. “Speaking of gifts, I'm attending a climate summit in Okinawa in a few weeks. I can find you and Genji some small souvenirs if you wish.” 

“Oh, that's not necessary-” 

“Not all unnecessary things are without purpose,” Mondatta waves his hand, dismissive without being condescending. “I know what it is to miss a taste of home. Besides, we operate on a barter system, and our library walls are unpleasantly empty.” 

“Fair enough.” Hanzo laughs around the ache in his heart. “How's your Okinawan?” 

Mondatta chuckles, mug tipped to his lips. “Terrible, I'm afraid. Tenzing is our resident polyglot, I'd be lost without him.” 

“I'm no better. All I remember from junior high is 'Hello' and 'I don't understand.'” 

“Those two phrases will take you farther than you imagine.” 

“Hm, very wise of you.” 

“Thank you, I intend to make a career of it.” 

Despite the intrusions of his mind, Hanzo is grateful for a laugh, and for an afternoon spent not feeling quite so out of place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing these two out-pretentious-ing each other is my favourite <3   
> It's really fun to bring hinted-at friendships to the foreground. Of course they get along, older brother nerds have to stick together~   
> Also y'all, y ' a l l, we have less than ten Intitober fics left!!! H o w did this happen? Thank you all for continuing to come back for each chapter, leaving kudos' and the many sweet comments <3 You're all lovely and I hope you're doing great! Let's do this last leg together!


	23. An Open Sky (Pharmercy NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oral sex, fingering, soft lesbians

“Wow, there's so many,” Angela breathes in awe as lights streak across the sky above them. “I don't think I've ever seen a proper meteor shower.” 

“It's a perfect night for it,” Fareeha chuckles, blonde locks tickling her nose as she tugs her girlfriend closer. Watching stars sprint across the moonless sky, their backyard lit only by little solar lights along the garden while they cuddle under old blankets on the trampoline, it makes Fareeha feel like a kid again. Except she was never quite this happy. “Have you ever seen the Northern Lights?” 

“No! Have you?” Angela's head pops up and Fareeha has to laugh at the genuine jealousy in her voice. 

“Gabe and Jack took us up into the Rockies after I finished basic training. It was unbelievable, I've never seen anything so beautiful.” Fareeha is silent a moment before grinning wide, jabbing a finger into her girlfriend's cheek and feigning cockiness. Jesse would be proud. “Until I met you, of course.” 

“You stop that,” Angela groans, frowning fondly at her and propping herself on one elbow. “You can see them in Iceland too, I've always wanted to go. Maybe we could take a trip next summer?” 

“That would be rad as hell,” Fareeha hums, smiling again. “But you realize taking a vacation means you have to stop working, right?” 

“Oh, sorry, what was that?” Angela mockingly cups a hand to her ear. “Criticism? From the one who only took two sick days when her patella ended up on the other side of her fucking leg?” 

“Don't start with me, woman.” Fareeha viciously tickles her sides, making Angela shriek with laughter. “Don't even begin with me! Don't-” 

Angela plants a sloppy kiss on her, bringing the tickle assault to an abrupt end. She tastes like the s'mores they made earlier, a little stickiness clinging to their lips. She draws back, but Angela pursues, their arms circling around each other as they slide from one kiss into the next. “Mm, don't you want to watch the stars?” 

“They're not going anywhere,” Angela shifts, laying the warm line of her body atop Fareeha. Her thigh slips between Fareeha's legs, a near-squeak stalling in her throat when Angela pushes up and _rubs._ “It'll be easier to enjoy them once I'm not so distracted.” 

“You mean-” Fareeha flushes, letting the hot mess she forever is on the inside show itself. “But- the neighbours-” 

“No one can see us.” Angela kisses sweetly along her neck. A tall wooden fence lines the property, and the houses aren't so close, still- “We'll stay under the covers. If you can keep quiet, no one will ever know.” A smirk, soon replaced by gentle, loving eyes. “We don't have to. I just really want to touch you right now.” 

“No, it's okay.” Fareeha's breath catches at the unguarded want in Angela's gaze. It still surprises her, it may never cease to. “But even one false alarm and it's pants on, Amari out.” 

Angela giggles heartily, dropping her head to Fareeha's shoulder. “Fair enough, my love.” She reaches back blindly, pulling the old grey-pink comforter up to their shoulders. “Now, come here.” 

Fareeha went through a phase- for lack of a better term -of deciding that a lover's touch was something she would never need or even want. That she was perfectly content alone and happy without anyone to kiss her goodnight or caress the curves of her body or send flirty messages to her when she was half a world away. To pretend that she didn't long for the feelings currently stirring within her- the excitement, the needy, instinctual thrusts as her skin seeks more touch, the unwavering trust that she would not wake up alone. It was a one-women play, and she's so glad it came to an end before she met the beautiful, brilliant, impossibly gentle doctor in her arms. 

(It came to an end by her finally caving on having feelings, going on one terrible dating app adventure, and crying on Jesse's couch with a pint of fudge brownie ice cream between them, but she's a little less grateful for that part.) 

“Ooh, cold?” Angela chuckles against her mouth as she slides her t-shirt up, tracing over the goosebumps on her belly. Fareeha has a fine layer of baby-short hairs that grow over her stomach, which she used to wax until Angela rubbed her belly and called them cute. After all, who the hell is she to deny the woman something she loves, however odd it might be. 

Fareeha spares a nervous look around as Angela pushes the shirt up and bares her breasts. No spontaneous visitors yet. Sure it's after midnight, but she's seen just enough true crime series to be appropriately paranoid. But not enough not to become utterly distracted when lips seal around her nipple and suck. “O-oh, oh, Angela-” 

“Shh,” her girlfriend whispers against damp skin, snickering at how she shivers. 

Fareeha curves one hand tightly to the back of Angela's head, jamming the knuckles of the other against her teeth. “S-sorry.” 

“Don't be,” Angela murmurs, sounding downright greedy as she kisses and bites and squeezes. Fareeha is on a one-way street to wrecked and she doesn't mind at all. She used to worry about- hell, being 'easy,' she supposes. She can't even pretend that was the fault of her stupider, younger self, an artifact of her tough persona, since she once vaguely expressed such concern to Angela. In the middle of sex. 

To Angela's credit, she only looked at her in blank confusion for about five seconds before going down on her again. What a champ. 

“Angie, please,” Fareeha hisses when she feels swollen under the attention, only for her eyes to pop open. “Oh shit, the-” 

Angela's hand blindly fumbles around in the little cloth grocery bag they had tossed the bug spray and water into, grumbling as she sits up, finally producing the purple bottle of lube with a flourish. Fareeha narrows her eyes as best she can, feeling warm all over outside of the comfortable summer night. “You didn't want to watch the Orionids at all, you perv.” 

“Not true! I just came prepared, I though you'd be proud.” Angela touches a finger to her lips, fake-pouting and pushing her chest out. Fareeha never thought she'd actually get her dream girl- a cutie with centrefold good looks and a stomach you could bounce a quarter off and get five bucks back- and have her be the whole package, but it makes her wanna send her parents a thank-you card for letting her be born. 

“Knock that shit off and get down here.” 

“Sir, yes sir,” Angela smirks and drops down, the two of them kissing with gleeful abandon. That was a roleplay for another day, because no, Fareeha is not above that. _Sorry, Mum._

Getting her basketball shorts off without kicking the covers away is no small task, but they manage, Angela gasping and smirking when her fingers curl between her legs. “No underwear? Now who's the pervert?” 

“I was sweaty,” Fareeha pushes back into the light touch, needy already. “Please, Angela-” 

“Settle down,” Angie purrs, crawling beneath the covers with lube in hand. Fareeha wishes she could watch, the sight is always a beautiful one no matter how messy or harried they are. But not seeing adds the slightest element of surprise, twisting her arousal that much tighter. 

Angela's curse at squirting out an excess of lube makes Fareeha giggle, though the slide of her fingers force her to clap a hand over her mouth. Angela traces over her folds like Braille, slow and gentle until every centimetre is soaked. She startles a laugh from her by nuzzling the wild curls atop her mound, makes her chest seize with a broad lick from bottom to top, and leaves little kisses along the folds that send her heart fluttering. 

Fuck it. If someone creeps into their backyard, the only one getting murdered is them for interrupting this perfection. 

“Can I-?” Angela's words vibrate against her clit, fine fingers tracing her entrance. 

“Hell yes,” Fareeha sighs, pulling the pillow out from under her head in anticipation. “Two please- _mmm!_ ” 

The most delicious slide, well-slicked and stretching her out just enough- Angie's tongue flicks repeatedly against her clit, never fully leaving it and yep. Pillow was a very good choice. 

Everything's much faster after that, Angela sucking happily and a bit messily while Fareeha curls up. Her hand taps Angela's shoulder like a dog scratching fleas, the trampoline wobbling beneath them. She tries to hold back, ride the edge a little longer. But then a hand grips the sweaty curve of her ass, helping hitch her hips into the thrusts of her tongue, and Fareeha drops over the edge. Waves of electricity race through her, the pillow muffling her yells as they get louder and shorter, the orgasm drawn out as her walls grip down hard on Angela's fingers. 

Her girlfriend lifts the pillow a few minutes later, beaming and picking a hair off her tongue. “Almost cut off my circulation there, darling.” 

“Bluh, shut up.” Fareeha hauls her in for a kiss and rolls them over, the blankets twisting around them and the two laughing as they bounce gently back up. “Your turn.” 

Fareeha would happily spend the rest of her life between Angela's thighs if she didn't need money and food and Netflix. Her pussy is hot and earthy on her tongue, smelling of salty sweat as she works her with alternating light and deep touches. She sucks on her long inner folds and smiles to herself when her hips wriggle down for more. Her legs squeeze and shiver on Fareeha's shoulders, heels digging into her back as she presses her tongue inside. Angie's muscles creak against her ears, and Fareeha wouldn't mind being crushed right here and now. 

She could write poetry about eating her girlfriend out if she was even remotely creative. As it stands, she just leans onto her shoulder, reaches up to tweak one of her broad, cute nipples and lets Angela ride her face into the sunset, the trampoline quietly rattling beneath them. 

Angela makes a whole songbook of noises in the lead-up, but is noticeably silent when she comes. Fareeha keeps sucking at her thick nub while Angela's muscles squeeze and flutter beneath, her voice cutting out on a silent cry as her whole body shakes. 

They both notice when Fareeha straddles Angela's thigh to smear a kiss over the corner of her lips afterwards. “Oh, you're worked up again, aren't you?” 

Fareeha keens against Angela's neck, accidentally nipping when her hand slips down to rub her in hard, fast, perfect circles. “Shh, I've got you, that's it-” 

The warm air feels much cooler on damp skin, sprawled out with shorts tugged clumsily back on and knees pressed together as her body hums still. Angela is practically glued to her side, cradled in both her arms and sighing happily as her forehead is kissed. “Mm, my sweet Fareeha.” 

“Babe,” Fareeha tuts, kissing her again. A track of light catches her eye, the sky filled with more meteors than before, like a thousand balls of string rolling across the endless black. “Oh wow, look! I guess we timed that right.” 

“It's so pretty,” Angela agrees, quiet for a while before she nuzzles against her neck, cuddling her close. “I really love living here with you.” 

Fareeha feels warmth run right through her heart, so happy to be laying in this one odd little place in the universe with shining blue eyes staring up at her. “Yeah, well, I love it even more.” 

Contented, teasing giggles fill the still air of the starry night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me while deciding what to write next: Hm I could do some Angela POV, I haven't given her her own introspective chapter yet, orrrrrr I could write about the two of them dining at the Y   
> In all seriousness, I wanted to write a little soft place to land after the last Pharmercy chapter. They have their ongoing challenges as all the couples do, but they're doing okay <3 
> 
> A note for clarification: Fareeha's had bottom surgery (probably 3-5 years prior to this chapter) because A) she wanted to and B) she's been employed with benefits since finishing college. Jesse's only had top surgery at this point because he's been precariously employed his entire adult life (until the mechanic apprenticeship in Honesty) and saving up for top surgery/recovering from it in his twenties was a huge financial kick in the ass (being in witness protection and moving around a lot is hard on the resume). Whether he gets bottom surgery after he gets in a better place financially is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ to me. It wouldn't ever be plot-relevant and I don't spend much time thinking or writing about it because I never want to reduce trans characters to their transition or their bodies. It only comes in NSFW chapters for obvious reasons.   
> Def not looking for cookies or any rubber stamp of approval, I'm always learning and willing to admit I goofed. I just wanted to mention because well, I've seen trans characters get objectified in various ways and that's Not Great, and I didn't want anyone to think I was writing Fareeha or Jesse or anyone a certain way for sex appeal. I just wrote my personal hcs vis a vis where they currently are in their lives. There's lots of ways to be trans, and doing or not doing certain aspects of transitions doesn't make anyone more or less trans or more or less valid! Go in peace, my lovelies <3 
> 
> Also aside but major kudos to this precious comic for giving me the idea of Jesse and Fareeha both being trans and growing up together and supporting each other and ugh my heart <3 (check out the rest of their OW stuff! so good): http://peachdeluxe.tumblr.com/post/158495734593/lil-somethin-for-transwatch-week-day-1-2-trans


	24. Pride (McHanzo & the gang)

Hanzo politely nudges through the crowd on the broad sidewalk until he sees Genji. Or rather, when he sees Hana with her head and arms through a metal-bar awning, leaning some of her weight on her elbows while sitting atop Genji's shoulders. “Dare I ask?” 

“Tall people are bullshit,” Hana answers simply, pushing her ballcap back. 

“Ah, I see.” 

“Where's Jesse?” Genji asks, a large bisexual flag melded into his right cheek, the same one on Hana's left along with the ace one on her right. 

“He's marching with the city workers union, he said he'll wave to us.” Hanzo says, picking a rainbow flag out of the sheet Hana holds out to him. “Is Zenyatta in the parade?” 

“No, he's doing committee stuff at the park, so he gets to miss the whole thing.” Genji whines, dampening his handkerchief with his water bottle and pressing it over the transfer paper on Hanzo's face. “I'm really proud of him, but I want him to have fun too!” 

“Lúcio's doing set-up there too,” Hana sighs from above. “But Brigitte's in the Women in STEM float! We gotta wave extra hard. She needs glasses, but she's in denial.” 

Hanzo chuckles, noticing the pink mesh top his brother is wearing. “You couldn't put on a real shirt?” 

Genji cocks an eyebrow out him, distant shouts indicate the approaching floats. “Your arm holes end at your boxers. Don't come at me when you're wearing a tea towel with some knots in it.” 

The parade is wholesome, blindingly colourful and deafening with bubblegum pop. All manner of groups going by on wheels, feet, and roller skates. Hanzo hadn't been able to attend for a few years due to work and is pleased to see it larger than he remembers. Brigitte is dancing in a truckbed with some other women, but waves courtesy of Hana's hollering at her beloved girlfriend. Jesse walks by not long after, holding one end of the union banner and blowing Hanzo a kiss when he steps out to get his attention, which causes a few people around them to giggle and Hanzo to shake his head tiredly. 

Most surprising is the Shambali passing by, Mondatta looking beatific as usual in the centre with both his bodyguards, the monks' faces painted an array of colours and their orange trousers glowing in the hot June sun. Hanzo leans in to Genji to ask over the cheers. “Do they usually march?” 

Genji shakes his head once he finishes waving. “Mondatta always has, but this is the first year they've all committed to coming. They're doing something at the park, too.” 

With stiff backs and pockets full of various branded freebies, Hana dismounts her post and they follow the crowd to the large municipal park. Soaked through with sweat by the time they reach it, they happily fill their water bottles and fall in a heap under a nearby tree. Jesse joins them soon after, sleeveless and grinning at Hanzo's admonishments for embarrassing him. 

The mish-mash of booths, family activities, and energy ends up being something of a clan gathering. They bump into Torbjörn in line at the food trucks, ordering hot dogs for his enormous brood, Brigitte promising to catch up with them. Lena and Emily run up to give them big hugs in the vendor area, wearing matching shirts with cutesy slogans and arrows pointing at each other, which would be eyeroll-worthy on anyone but them. Satya's volunteering at the positive space initiative for the business association so she can support the cause without getting caught up in the mess, as she puts it. Winston and Mei smack university stickers on their shirts by way of greeting and spend more time chatting than they do actually promoting their workplace, Zarya whizzing by on committee business and passing on greetings from herself and Zenyatta. Amélie waves from the distance, supervising a group of young students from the ballet school while they stretch for their main stage performance. Fareeha, Angela, and Bastion find them near the photo booth, and they pile in for a group picture, which Hana immediately sends to her dad and Gabe, passing on their well-wishes when they arrive. 

The Shambali's booth is adjacent to the large community health tent. Bishal emerges in scrubs instead of robes, laptop in hand as he gestures to the spread of kits, pamphlets, and candy on the table beside him. “Anyone need shots? You only get a goody bag if you let me check, or if you get an STI test. Who's first?” 

“Not me! Back, you demon!” Genji shields himself behind Angela and Fareeha, much to their amusement. 

“I _know_ you're up to date.” The soft-spoken monk clucks his tongue. “Big dragon like that and you're afraid of a little poke. Any of your friends braver than you?” 

Everyone takes turns going inside while the rest of them chat with Sita, Shing, and Ditya. Mondatta is off prepping for his speech and the other monks are eating lunch up on the hill behind them while they take their turn supervising the community peace quilt and petitions for extensions of rights and funding for community food and green energy programs. They get to doodle on their squares behind the booth due to 'family and friend privileges,' Hanzo blinking through a tetanus booster (“Your big brother's tougher than you, hm?” “He wasn't getting a big one halfway inside his leg!”) and taking his perhaps too seriously, still colouring after the others have passed theirs back. 

“This is so exciting!” Sita claps her hands together, unable to contain herself. “I feel so infected by all the positive energy, I wish I could bottle it!” 

“It's nice to see so many people be themselves all at once,” Shing smiles, wiping sweat from her tanned brow and smearing colour over her seven dots. “It's our beliefs made manifest, I wish it was for more than one day.” 

“This is your first Pride ever, right?” Genji asks, marker cap in his teeth as he finishes the kanji on his square. His calligraphy isn't bad, Hanzo's always been a little envious of his penmanship. “Have you walked around yet?” 

Sita hums and glances away, Shing's hand instantly going to her bare lower back. “I really want to, but this is the first big- anything we've all been to since what happened to Mondatta. I know it's useless to worry, but...” 

“We haven't gotten vandalized since moving here,” Shing adds earnestly. “But it happened when he was far from us. We're scared of what might happen next time the wrong people resent us.” 

“But there doesn't have to be a next time,” Ditya adds, tidying up the table from their group blowing through, addressing them as well. “We are trying to be less fearful. Hiding away isn't helping anyone, and it will make hypocrites of us if we keep it up.” 

“Nothing's going to happen to any of you here,” Angela reassures the younger monks, her doctor voice peeping out in contrast to her jean shorts and themed t-shirt. “I've lived here a long time now, it's a very safe place. You don't have to be afraid.” 

“You're kinda missing the point if you don't enjoy it,” Hana adds kindly, fanning herself with a library handout. “Plus there's mad security here.” 

Sita and Shing hum in consideration, Ditya smiling behind them. “It's settled then, we'll go as a group. I didn't come here to stand behind this table all day.” 

Back at their tree, they rest with empty wallets and tote bags full of sun screen and condoms, chugging from promotional water bottles. Fareeha cuts out the middleman and dumps half of hers over her head, her girlfriend doing the same. Jesse mops his face on the inside of his shirt, Hanzo noting the new freckles blooming on his shoulders and cheeks. Lúcio appears, trying to keep his head down and hello-hugging Genji and Hana, fist-bumping Brigitte. “What's happening, guys?” 

“We're plotting to take over the Earth,” Hana replies, slapping a trans pride tattoo on his cheek as soon as he points to it and smooching his bare one. “How was soundcheck?” 

“Good! Zen's backstage putting out fires. Uh, figurative ones,” Lúcio chuckles, catching a water from Fareeha. “It's too bad he's stuck making the fun happen for everyone else.” 

“I know, I wanna hold hands with my husband in front of people too!” Genji feigns an accusatory glare at Hanzo and Jesse, rearranging his bag of unnecessary queer accessories. “I'm like Cinderella at midnight over here.” 

“Want me to be your proxy husband?” Bastion offers, his new text-to-voice app much faster than his old one. 

“Aw, thanks, aren't you straight though?” Genji signs back a little badly, finger-spelling the words he doesn't know. 

“Yes, but I'm very supportive!” Bastion grins, eyes shining brighter. The fear of his own attacks sometimes kept the affable young man away from their group outings, but Hanzo senses a calm energy to him lately. Angela seems to notice too, and smiles proudly. Maybe living with the Lindholms was good for his nerves, after all. 

“Well, in that case!” Genji pulls him into a teasing embrace, a chuckle going up from their group. They watch the main stage from a distance as the afternoon sun lowers, eventually noticing Sita and a few other monks dancing wildly to the music along with some children. Hana expresses her hope that they'll become a 'meme for peace.' They mill about some more, absorbing the uniquely convivial energy before leaving in search of sustenance. 

“Lúcio's too famous to go get takeout,” Hana's voice buzzes over the speakerphone, Hanzo holding his phone towards the backseat so Genji, Fareeha, and Angela can hear too. “So he volunteered his living room and we can order whatever we want on my card, who's in?” 

Hanzo gets a nod from everyone in the car, Lúcio's voice faintly insisting that Hana is also famous and got so many signature requests at the park today, for real. “We are, but we can split it.” 

“No way, I'm trying to share the love here.” 

“Hanzo doesn't speak for all of us, I accept your love.” Genji leans in towards the speaker, grinning. 

“I will pry your wallet out of your cold dead hands before I let you pay for all of us,” Fareeha adds, her tone only somewhat kinder than her words. 

“I'm ordering on our way there, fight me!” Hana laughs before hanging up. An epic battle does follow at Lúcio's house between the I-can-pay-but-as-long-as-you-don't-mind faction and the my-dignity-hinges-on-paying-my-share faction, but it ends in pizza. They take turns borrowing the bathroom while the others play on Lúcio's arcade set-up, washing and glamming up as the sun sets. 

Lúcio heads out early and shows them how to set the alarm before they leave. As selectively trusting as Hanzo is now, he would never leave any of their friends or even his husband alone with his game system and snack supply, but they're all too busy flicking their wings to take advantage. The concrete pavilion and surrounding field have been fenced off, a bar slapped together in one corner, picnic tables laid out near the back, and Lúcio's DJ booth on the stage. 

Zenyatta is finally off-duty and greets them in what appears to be a rainbow caftan. “Did I overdo it?” 

“Never, babe.” Genji smiles and plants one on him almost as if he's wanted to all day. 

Music thrums through the air, seemingly syncing with their heartbeats, the crowd cheering whenever Lúcio gets on the mic. Hanzo leans against a post and fondly watches his friends. Genji and Hana are so in sync they seem rehearsed, doing all sorts of crazy moves while Brigitte acts as a hype-man. Jesse and Fareeha evidently attended the same school of hip-shaking, and he's unsure what to make of that, though Angela certainly isn't. Lena seems to use half the dance floor while moving, Emily chasing hopelessly after her. Bastion jives right beside the speaker, looking like a ray of flower-print sunshine. 

“Come dance!” Zarya thrusts a hand his way when her and Mei tire of nursing their drinks. “The wall can hold up itself!” 

Hanzo simply shakes his head, smirking purposefully. He's never been much of a dancer, but it runs deeper than that. Despite Angela's endless research, his legs hinder his movements. But to admit he finds it embarrassing and stupid-looking would expose him as a complete asshole, given that his brother-in-law is currently shimmying his upper body next to Genji. He doesn't actually think Zen looks stupid, but what would people think if they heard him- 

Lúcio's EDM track mixes into something with trumpets and a relentless drum beat that makes every single person down their drinks and rush onto the dance floor, including Mei. “Wait, no-” 

“You must!” Zarya laughs, yanking him away with one pull. It's difficult to argue with someone who can benchpress you. 

Hanzo might not have the best rhythm, but at least he can spell and march in place seemingly ad infinitum. Not to Jesse's enthusiasm, but he tries. 

Once he's in the crowd, he can't leave without looking moody, even if he doesn't mean to, so he stays and lets Angela and Fareeha teach him how to time warp, or something. He needs another drink to forget it, whatever it is. Jesse offers to buy, kissing his cheek and wading over to the bar. Hanzo realizes that not everyone has Genji, Hana, and Zen's choreography and joins them in various cycles of arm and hip movements broken up with occasional jumping. 

He taps out when his back and thighs beg for a break, leaning again because he's scared if he sits down he may not get back up. Jesse appears with a vodka soda- the least-junior prom booze on tap – and subtly squeezes Hanzo's ass through his baggy blue shorts. “My, you're grabby tonight.” 

“Gotta let all the young things know that you're taken,” Jesse flashes a grin, not moving his hand as the strobe lights bounce all around them. “You've been getting eyed up all night.” 

“Really?” Hanzo looks back at the somewhat younger-skewing crowd. “What, have I already reached sugar daddy-appeal? At my salary, I barely qualify as an artificial sweetener daddy.” 

“And you're my Sweet-n-Low daddy, anyway,” Jesse smears a kiss across his temple, arm looping around his waist, the scent of him so close and so familiar. 

Hanzo chuckles, lips catching on his straw. “And yet, you could still never afford me.” 

“Rude ass, that's what you are.” A slower song rolls out of the speakers, the shimmering dancers grouping into pairs. “Y'wanna dance, honey?” 

Hanzo hums, hitching an eyebrow up as he leans comfortably into his husband. “Isn't this from that dumb movie you made me watch?” 

“You liked it!” 

“Baseless slander.” 

“You went 'aw,' I heard it with my own two ears!” 

“No one will ever believe you.” Hanzo smirks and angles up, their lips fitting together so easily. He traces his fingers over Jesse's cheek, likely smearing what's left of the trans flag tattoo. He has never been one for PDA, unless it's to make Genji leave their house. But the simple pleasure of kissing the man he loves out where everyone can see, unbothered and better yet, unnoticed. It's worth the glitter he'll be washing out of his hair all week- 

The crowd suddenly shouts in unrestrained glee, Lúcio sounding nervous, Hanzo looks over to see everyone clear a path. Angela stands in the centre, braced for something. Genji is back near the stage and takes a running start at her as the song builds to its climax. Jesse softly whistles. “Your brother's gonna break his fuckin' neck-” 

Genji leaps, like the magnificent green gazelle he is, Angela's hands gripping his waist and pushing him up at the perfect moment. Flashes go off like mad while they manage to hold it for a few seconds, Angela catching him halfway down so he doesn't land wrong. “Or not.” 

Fareeha appears in front of them a moment later, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “Angela's been wanting to take swing dancing since forever, I might just register her and your brother for her birthday.” 

“Savin' her from your two left feet, huh?” Jesse wheezes a laugh when his sister lightly punches his ribs. Hanzo watches his brother dance hand-in-hand with the doctor, the two of them laughing as she spins him and drops him into a dramatic dip. Zenyatta snapping pictures until Genji is volleyed into his lap, hugging him tight and nuzzling their foreheads together like they've been together two weeks and not several years. 

“Y'know,” Jesse says as Hanzo leans back against him, one hand curling around the forearm snug against his chest. “I enjoy this stuff way more than I did when I was a pathetic-ass twink.” 

“I do believe they call that a big mood,” Fareeha agrees, taking a deep swig of her ginger ale. 

Hanzo aches in ten regrettable ways, hasn't drank enough water, and there's probably embarrassing pictures of him on Genji's Instagram. He leans his head back, pushing up until Jesse takes the hint and kisses the bump of his nose, smiling sweetly down at him. “I'm glad I came.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several months late but HAPPY PRIDE ALWAYS Y'ALL. Nothing brings a smile to my small town queer ass like pride and halloween, the gay duo of holidays   
> More ensemble scenes /lays down/   
> Bastion is here and gets lines <3! He lipreads and signs, but uses apps when he's in a group. Combat trauma is rough but he's doing well /thumbs up/   
> I couldn't decide if I loved bunnyribbit or mekanic more so I made Hana poly! She's the point of the V, Lucio and Brigitte are both dating her but are pals to each other.   
> Lastly, if you haven't seen that video of the Buddhist monk dancing at the Seoul pride festival, do yourself a favour and cleanse your soul with it


	25. Don't Hate the Hustle (Hanzo's Girl Gang)

Hanzo is duly surprised when his boss at the print shop up and sells the business in order to move to Berlin with their long-distance lover of twenty-five years, but slightly more unexpected is when one Miss Vaswani ends up being the buyer. 

“I can move my set-up in, no problem.” Satya waves her bionic hand, rolling a sugar wrapper tight between her fingers while her coffee cools. “But you have a strong customer base that is being under-utilized. Think, what is this city lacking?” 

“An art supply store that isn't full of marked-up Christmas decorations in May,” Hanzo smirks, then silently recoils. He has a complicated relationship with his business acumen, sometimes feeling ashamed for squandering it on online t-shirt sales and freelance graphic design, sometimes resenting it as something grafted onto him by people with little regard for his or others' humanity. 

A gentle light flickers behind Satya's eyes, too observant to hide from. “That empty vape store across the street would be a good size, with enough polish. What do you think?” 

“I think that there's a saying about mixing business and pleasure.” Hanzo sips his drink, excessive sugar embedding in his tastebuds. “And I know I don't have the hundred and ten percent you have to put into this.” 

“You don't think we'd work well together?” Satya laughs into her knuckles, a twitch of sarcasm in her smile. “I'm the only reason you go to the doctor. I think we'll survive me signing your paycheques.” 

“Jesse is part of the reason, also.” 

“Give it some thought,” Satya says, in a tone that is confident without being overbearing, a tenuous balance. “I trust you to make a good go of it, and I would never let it take you from your art. It would be good for both of us.” 

Hanzo goes home, to the grocery store, and to bed, an if-then chart spiralling out across the back of his eyelids. After a lengthy midnight consultation with Jesse and his morning run, he calls Satya, still breathing hard from outside. “I'm in. How do we make this work?” 

“With a lot of paperwork and willpower.” He hears the slight smile in her voice and music underneath the buzz of the call. “By the way, the other staff, anyone worth sacking in the name of cutting costs?” 

“They're all good, save one shiftless asshole. But I think you've already been acquainted.” 

“The one who hit on me and bragged about fudging his timesheet to the intern? Consider it done.” Typing sounds take over the background noise. “This conversation never happened, by the way.” 

Hanzo smirks, water bottle at his lips. “What conversation?” 

When it comes to capital, Amélie hears their pitch and without being asked, offers up a chunk of the settlement she had at last received from an obscure branch of a foreign government. “Gérard wouldn't want me to waste his blood money listening to some little postgrad at the bank tell me what mutual funds I should buy. With you two, I know I'll see returns.” 

Their plan ends up being one percent determination, ninety-nine percent perspiration. Grants, loans, and permits for renovations require paperwork that is redundant, repetitious and at times, incoherent. Satya isn't the only one steaming over inefficiencies by the end. 

“I know it's a little late,” Jesse winds Den's leash around his wrist, jacket hanging half-unzipped as he approaches their document-strewn dining room table. “But do y'all want some coffee? My treat.” 

“I love you more than anything,” Hanzo groans and turns back to kiss him, blinking for what feels like the first time in thirty minutes. 

“I deeply appreciate you as a human being,” Satya says, fingers steepled beneath her nose as she skims a corporate law website. 

“Double espresso, s'il te plaît.” Amélie adds, still in warm-ups from her evening class. 

“Can do,” Jesse heads out the door, whistling as the snow crunches beneath his boots. 

They move over the course of three masochistic days, rolling hideously expensive printing equipment across the pedestrian walkway with a light that isn't long enough for an able-bodied person to sprint across. Some orders don't arrive, and Hanzo gets a little creative in threatening a dismissive customer support associate. Their exhibiting artist gets food poisoning, but Hanzo has long learned his way around a hammer and measuring tape. By the end, the effect is seamless to outside eyes. Even the architecture offices upstairs look like something out of a magazine. The store is well-stocked and all the machinery, including and especially the cash register, are working after no small amount of trouble-shooting. Hanzo hangs the last wax-dripped portrait in the slender, open concept gallery space next to the fire exit, stepping back and surveying the layout one last time. It is nearly perfect. 

“Mm, I love to watch you work, babe,” Jesse comes up behind him, sliding his arm around his waist. Hanzo was so absorbed in his task, he hadn't even heard him come in. 

“Flatterer,” Hanzo teases, melting ever so slightly at the oddly polite kiss against his neck. “I haven't stress-vomited yet, is that a good sign?” 

“You're gonna be fine, darlin'.” Jesse rubs his back as they head out into the shop floor. “Worst case scenario, if everything goes to hell, at least you can end up on the dole like a proper unemployed bum.” 

“This is true.” Hanzo chuckles. Amélie sits on the counter in a pose familiar from their days at the sandwich shop, staying to help despite being an investor, not a co-owner. The other employees, all very young but earnest, had been sent home with the leftover pizza, having unboxed, set up, and cleaned everything in sight. Satya has disappeared into her phone, tapping out a pattern on the side of her military-grade case. 

“Y'all ready for tomorrow?” 

“I'm very excited, but I would also like to lock my apartment door and not come out for a week.” Satya smiles, hugging herself. “Are you okay with tag-teaming tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” Hanzo nods. “Should we have a code word?” 

“Velociraptor,” Amélie suggests, straightening the business card rack. 

“I said code word, not safe word.” 

“Oh, my mistake.” 

“Let's get going, we all need to sleep.” Satya grabs the sole set of keys from the pocket of her dress, having been too busy to run to the hardware store and have them cut yet. 

“You mean stare at the ceiling filled with self-doubt and trepidation? I'm great at that.” 

“Honey, please.” 

“I mean actual sleep. Concealer can only take you so far.” Satya freezes as they shut the door. “Did we call the newspaper? We need-” 

“I did, I copied you on the email.” Hanzo gently touches Satya's shoulder, accepting her brief, thankful squeeze. “Hana's also going to do some kind of live video tomorrow, so long as we don't mind her 'attracting a certain percentage of weirdos.'” 

“As long as they're weirdos with money,” Amélie shrugs. “You deal with worse every time you open commission requests.” 

“You're still getting furries on your blog?” Satya raises her eyebrows. 

“It's not the furries I mind.” Hanzo shudders, repressing every memory preceding his hitting the block button. The allure of predictable income feels less like selling out and more like an opportunity to screen his emails with better discretion. “See you in the morning.” 

The women bid their good-byes, Satya lightly hugging him and Amélie kissing his cheek. Him and Jesse drive home with the windows down, his hand on Jesse's thigh, getting rubbed reassuringly at a red light. “It looks amazing, sugar. People are gonna go nuts. Wait 'till all the college kids hear about it, I heard the on-campus store's a fuckin' scam.” 

“Wouldn't surprise me,” Hanzo snorts, watching the downtown lights whizz by as they fly down the empty main road, so much energy packed into a small space, unlike their neighbourhood on the West side. The heavy feeling creeps up and clenches his stomach, as it may always try, to taunt him with not-quite truths about how it could all come crashing down, that he's one small error away from losing everything again, how it's inevitable, what he deserves. 

A message dings into one of their groupchats, the one that had been created solely to plan Hanzo's last birthday, but they kept using despite all the stupid nicknames. 

**#1 Little Bro:** So proud of you guys ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆ Can't wait for tomorrow!! This is so cool! 

**#1 Little Bro:** And I get the staff discount too right Hanzo ・ω・ 

Hanzo huffs a laugh, the acid in his gut smothered by the cool wind in his hair, the sound of Jesse singing along to Shania on the radio, and his own insistence, bolstered by others' honest belief in him despite everything, against the voices that he no longer calls his own. _We will be okay._

**Old Man Shimada:** Fuck no. 

**Old Man Shimada:** And I'm not buying you anything. 

**#1 Little Bro:** R U D E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized while writing this that Hanzo, Satya, and Amelie in this verse are all former Rich Bitches(tm) who lost their wealth to different degrees and in different ways. Make of that what you will!   
> Also Amelie can play the cold-blooded card all she wants, she used the informal 'you' with Jesse because she does in fact have feelings (#spoilers)   
> I don't know about y'all, but writing living-in-recovery Hanzo warms every one of my cockles <3


	26. Touch (Genyatta NSFWish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief description of scars/surgeries

Genji isn't even at work yet and he wants to go home. He's tired, he hurts, and the person in front of him is singing along to their headphones like that's a remotely acceptable thing to do. His phone buzzes and he barely breaks his dissociative stare out the window to glance at it. 

**ZT:** I found something I'd like us to try, if you're interested. Don't open this link at work ^-^ 

Actually, Genji's day isn't so bad. 

He reads the comic Zenyatta sent him as the bus rattles and grinds to too-frequent stops. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he imagines in his little office, looking up this sort of thing on his lunch break, maybe fantasizing. It's interesting, for sure. 

**GS:** On me or you ;)? 

**ZT:** You to start, if you don't mind. 

**GS:** I don't mind at all~ Whenever you're down, I am. 

**ZT:** So eager  <3 I have to get back to it, love you dear 

The when ends up being Friday night, when they can sleep in a little the next morning so there's no pressure, no hurry (he really is a world apart from his younger self, at least in some respects). Zenyatta doesn't kiss him quite as long as he would like, but he knows if they keep it up there will be no experimenting. Genji lets himself be helped out of his clothes and politely bows his head for the blindfold, neither of them able to restrain their grins. 

Zenyatta moves away to do something and he feels suddenly- deprived? Unbalanced, almost. He's just sitting on their bed, but their apartment walls are concrete and with the window shut it's way too quiet. Combined with the blindfold, it's- “Hey, um-” He feels Zenyatta turn back around. “Do you mind if we put some music on? I know that sort of undermines the point, but I just feel really-” 

“Of course, my love,” Zenyatta's hands caress his cheeks, bringing him back down. “Don't fret, the point is for you to feel good. Whatever achieves that end is fine, there are no rules.” 

“Ah, right,” Genji chuckles, ducking his head. Zenyatta takes his hand and places it on his thigh, grounding him while he finishes his preparations. He hears Zenyatta's music app come on, one of Lúcio's lo-fi tracks playing softly while he sets it up on the side table. If only the poor guy knew. 

“Let's have you lay down for this.” Zenyatta gently guides him onto his back, the pillows fluffed up to meet him. He rubs aimless circles into Genji's sides as he gets comfortable. “All I need you to do is relax. You don't need to think of anything in particular, simply focus on my hands.” 

Genji nods, primed to shiver already. He's always liked Zenyatta's voice. Steady, soft, and deep enough to scratch something pleasant behind his conscious mind. Even when he was borderline homeless and only seeing him by chance, on his break or at the places they often accidentally wandered together. It quelled his temper, coaxed him into listening, warming him from the core outwards like a gulp of much-wanted tea on a stinging cold day. 

Zen knows it, too, but he's silent for now. Genji feels the warmth of him at his side, can tell he's leaning over him without seeing. His long fingers brush through Genji's hair first, slow as to painlessly undo the tangles there. His hair is forever overgrown, showing roots, and dry from bleach and colour, but the sensation against his scalp is like heaven. Zenyatta alternates between fast scritches and gentle strokes at no particular intervals, the sense of expectation drawing him down into his body, away from the distractions of his thoughts. 

He might compare it to when they meditate, either at home or with the others at the monastery, but it's a different- direction. He can't and isn't much concerned with explaining it. Zenyatta's fingers trace down to his face, almost exploratory, seemingly intent on doing everything possible. A pointer finger trails along his freshly-shaven cheek, the back of his hand tilts up Genji's chin ever so slightly, as though to examine him, thumbs caress brows and lips, fit themselves against scars with a palpably innocent interest. 

The curious impulse continues down his neck, sensitive on the best of days but Zenyatta is mindful not to tickle. Drawing over his Adam's apple, the tendons that stand out as his head leans back, the dot scar where an IV was fed down into his heart. He holds Genji's neck at one point, thumb pads braced beneath his chin, and the feeling of fragility is bizarre in its gratification. 

Zenyatta does not rush, nor does he linger. As he traces down Genji's arms, they both puff out a laugh at nearly the same time, hushed and fond. He has does this on its own to put Genji to sleep on overtired nights, one of the many splendid ways he cares for him. His hands move to Genji's chest, one palm laying over his heart for several beats, and Genji swallows hard. 

His hands slide in tandem over planes of muscle, catching on scars and less-recently shorn stubble, rocking the heels of his hands against Genji's hardened nipples. His scars are more dramatic here, the white and pink ridges less slender than the pockmarks of glass and more ragged than the later lines of plastic surgery. Zenyatta used to lead him through body awareness, or rather, drag him. It took years to manage gratitude for the talented hands that reached inside his body and returned his organs to as close to intact as they could, removing what he could live without (his appendix, spleen, one chunk of his liver and a few inches of intestine, he learned from his medical record much later). 

Zenyatta hums a low note, sensing his distraction but continuing his touch. No disappointment, only redirection. Genji's stomach jumps when Zen traces his navel, and he can nearly see his smile. 

He has long noticed Zen's fondness for his hips, slim and sexy inheritances from his Shimada side. Zenyatta likes to grip them, whether they lay half-asleep on the couch or when Genji mounts him, teasing and hungry. He traces the bones now, outlines their curves, drags one finger low across his pelvis, West to East and back again. 

Zen pets his thighs, another part that was difficult during those early days due to the nothing that interrupts his right leg above the knee. The attentions to his inner thighs leave Genji spread comfortably, the cupped hand against his cock strangely lacking in eroticism, the pressure simply comforting before he moving on. 

Genji's remaining foot is prohibitively sensitive, so Zenyatta begins working back up after polishing the curve of his calf, drawing strange, deep sensations from pressing around his knee. By now, the motions of his hands feel like sitting in the very edge of the surf at the beach. Warmth brightly washing up and retreating, creating sparks along his spine as it rises ever higher, his body at rest and his mind entirely elsewhere. 

It takes a moment for him to register the blindfold being removed, blinking back to Earth. Zenyatta smiles above him, caressing Genji's jaw. “Are you still with me, little sparrow?” 

“Mmnngh,” Genji replies, much to Zen's amusement. He finds himself pulled and lifted into his boyfriend's lap, cradled close with his face against Zenyatta's neck. He smells good, like incense and baby soap. He pets his hair, and Genji nearly purrs. 

“You did so well, my dear. Did you like it?” 

“You have to ask?” Genji grins, bringing his arms lazily around. He feels empty, but not disconcertingly so, though the frame of his mind is slowly coming into focus again. “Did you? I mean, you didn't get off.” 

“Neither did you.” Zenyatta's chuckle rings through both of them, like a distant temple bell. 

“Yeah, but- I don't think my brain's ever been that quiet.” Genji lets his head lean back against Zenyatta's hand, feeling as strong as a wet noodle. “I didn't think it would work that well, just- wow.” 

“We shall have to do it again sometime.” Zenyatta smiles, lit by the dim blue light of his phone on the side table. Genji realizes the room was arranged so as to not overstimulate him, to reintroduce him gently. 

“If you are curious about the appeal for me,” Zen goes on, a step ahead of his thoughts, dripping back into the foreground of his mind like wax. “When we're making love, my concentration is split between giving you pleasure and the pleasure you give me- which I must say, is singularly distracting.” 

Genji snorts, soft and almost drunk. He rubs his hands over Zen's ribs, unabashedly enjoying the heat of his skin, his voice continuing above in its soothing diction. “To have you laid out for me to enjoy you as I wish, well- I hardly got the short end of the stick.” Lips find his forehead, so tender in their affection, the back of his neck clasped in one smooth hand. “You are so perfect to me, Genji. Simply observing you is enough to stir my heart.” 

He has yet to rebuild his quips and defences, so the comment lands directly on his heart. He pushes his face against his lover's neck, hugging him perhaps too tight, suddenly so overwhelmed with, with- everything that is _Zenyatta_ that he can barely contain himself. He wants to stay right here forever and he also wants to get up and run ten laps. It's a weird feeling, but not entirely new. 

Zenyatta sighs contentedly, fondly scratching the base of his scalp. “Plus, any evening that ends with a handsome young man in my lap is a win in my books.” 

Genji breathes out a laugh, feeling light and ridiculous all over. “I want to call you a perv but you're too young, no fair.” 

Zen merely giggles. “My sweet sparrow.” 

Genji finds himself settled on his side, in the crook of Zenyatta's arm. He's not tired, exactly, and gladly continues their kissing from earlier. Music still on and their lips brushing together so slow and so good. A hand touches his cheek, Genji opens his eyes, and the depth of feeling he glimpses in shining amber eyes tells him everything he needs to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comic Zen sent him is this (indeed NSFW, click with caution) because it inspired me before I even started Intitober: https://www.ohjoysextoy.com/ace-in-the-dungeon-cici-luna/   
> Stayed up late with this one because I spent too much time watching ASMR videos to get in the right headspace, oops?   
> More touch-starved Genji /throws confetti/


	27. Sharing (Zenyatta & Mondatta)

One of the many aspects of the Shambali that Mondatta loves in is how they make time where others might insist there is none. He is far from immune to the pressure to always be busy, always working because is always much to be done, but his family keeps him accountable. Special occasions excepted, the time between supper and evening prayer is reserved for individual pursuits. While serving others is noble, the development of one's own spirit mustn't be neglected, however easy it is to let it slide. 

Thus, rather than take up his tablet and earn Ditya's justifiable ire, he finds his brother on the back veranda and sits beside him, offering a steaming mug. “Are you warm enough out here?” 

“Oh yes, definitely.” Zenyatta nods his thanks, taking the chiya and blowing on it. His back is braced against a post, a bundle of papers spread over his lap, his legs dangling over the edge as a breeze brushes past them. “I don't mind a bit of chill. Odd that there are words for mild fall days, but not cool summer days. I like them equally.” 

“Yes, and I know how troubled you are by lexical gaps.” Mondatta chuckles and mimics his comfortable pose, gesturing towards the red ink-strewn pages. “How is it?” 

“I've just finished,” Zenyatta smiles and hands it off. “For a first draft, it's very good. I tried to read it as if I were a stranger, and I think there's much to be learned from it. It has a re-read quality as well.” 

Mondatta flicks an eyebrow up, smiling. “But?” 

“But,” Zenyatta grins back and sighs, rubbing the stiffness from his neck. “You run into the same problem every time, it feels like it's been ghostwritten. There's nothing personal in it, no thumbprints or details that are uniquely yours.” 

“I don't want anything personal in it.” Mondatta replies, bordering on defensive. He already has to be firm with his publishers to keep his image out of limelight as much as possible. He's not a prophet and never claimed to be, no more committed to their ideals than any of the Shambali or, in fact, any other earnestly compassionate being. He is merely blessed with a platform, and he wants to use it as best he can. 

“But if you want the content to matter to others, you must show why it matters to you.” Zenyatta touches his shoulder, always so gentle in his expression. “If you show no humanity, no one will be able to connect with it. They'll read it, smile, and toss it on the shelf with all their other pretentious self-help coffee table books.” 

“How horrible,” Mondatta only half-feigns a cringe, thumbing through the edited, handwritten pages. “I suppose you are right. Can I entrust the second draft to you as well, or is your plate already full?” 

Zenyatta's schedule is more flexible, being their only layperson (save Genji, if their syncretism is stretched somewhat further), but he does not wish to take advantage. His brother shakes his head. “Not at all, I never mind going over your work.” 

“I appreciate that,” Mondatta smiles and sighs a bit, looking out towards the dense conifers that offer the most pleasant backdrop to their dear home. “I'm aware how little control I have over the reactions of others, but I cannot help but fear being perceived wrongly. This cult of personality our age favours weighs heavily on me.” 

“You must not fear, Mondatta.” Zenyatta helpfully rubs his back, warmth seeping through the layers of wrapped cotton. “Fear is the mind-killer. You must permit it to pass over and through you. When it is gone, only you will remain.” 

Mondatta inhales steadily, glancing fondly away as relief seeps into the knots that stay his mind from peace. “How wise you've become, little star.” 

He turns away to set his cup down and hears a barely-muffled snicker. Furrowing his brows, he snaps his head back around. “Oh, I get it. That was another Star Trek thing, wasn't it?” 

Zenyatta's delighted laugh bursts out from behind his hand. He wipes at his eyes after a breathless moment. “You are so out of touch, dai. It's really quite adorable!” 

“And you take too much pleasure in mocking me.” Mondatta smirks, tugging on Zenyatta's cheek, though his giggles do not cease. Stronger measures are required. “Have you any plans to confess to Genji this weekend? I heard he has Sunday off.” 

Zenyatta ceases instantly, flushing faintly and throwing a look behind them. “Will you shut up! He's here!” 

“He's gone for a run, I passed him on his way out the door.” Mondatta's smile widens. He pulls Zenyatta's shoulder until his cheek presses against his younger brother's temple. “I only want you to be happy. Why, it pains my soul to watch you deny yourself so.” 

“Pain in the soul?” Zenyatta pushes his face away roughly, aiming a glare his way. “How about we discuss the enormous pain the in ass you were when you were pining after your not-boyfriend?” 

“Tch, so vulgar.” 

“The truth is never vulgar,” Zenyatta parrots back at him, folding his arms. “Years, Mondatta. Half a decade. I deserve reparations for all the suffering you put me through, listening to you waffle and carry on.” 

“I changed your nappies, those are your reparations.” Mondatta retorts, neatly crossing his legs and sitting back. “And I had reasons to hold back, what are yours?” 

“Purely selfish, I'm afraid.” Zenyatta huffs impertinently, finishing his chiya. “I enjoy his presence in my life too much to risk losing it. He is so- kind, and considerate. He makes me laugh, and I want to keep watching him grow for as long as I can. He's- I've never met someone who draws me in the way he does. We philosophize about beautiful souls, but he actually possesses one.” 

Mondatta minds his expression as his brother grows increasingly flustered. It is easy to forget how young Zenyatta is, with the grades he skipped and the height and voice he unknowingly inherited from their biological father. He has been permitted a more typical youth, but still it's rare to for him to show himself as overwhelmed by anything, least of all a crush. “And handsome, don't forget that.” 

“Ugh, how could I?” Zenyatta replies flatly, dragging his hands harshly down his face. 

Mondatta chuckles again, touching his brother's back through the thin character print t-shirt he wears. “In all seriousness, you are not being selfish at all. You must give Genji a chance to speak for himself. If he does not feel the same way, surely your friendship will prevail.” 

“Sure, and how often does that actually happen?” 

Mondatta tuts at the pessimism in his tone. “Zenyatta-” 

“I don't want to talk about this anymore today, please.” 

He sighs, removing his hand. “Alright.” 

They slip into their own thoughts, Mondatta sensing a certain amount of distress still swirling in his brother. It is easier to content himself with his inability to solve the world's problems than it is to let fate have its way with the soft-hearted young man beside him. It is so easy to look at him and recall the warmth of a newborn in his arms, carrying him around endlessly as though he were a soft toy. Hopefully they will both consult the Iris before- 

A flash of movement catches his eye. He lifts his head and beams, touching Zenyatta's knee and whispering. “Bhā'ī, look.” 

Zenyatta lifts his head, gasping at the sight of a coyote trotting along the treeline with two smaller ones running behind it to keep up. His freckle-spattered face lights up, warming the inner workings of Mondatta’s spirit. “Oh, I've never seen one with babies before!” 

“Shh, Sita will come out and adopt them if you make fuss.” Mondatta snorts at the little swat to his ribs. They watch the wild family scurry along, pausing before darting back into the forest. “A nature walk would be a nice outing. Perhaps tomorrow, if it isn't too hot.” 

“Yes, I was just reading an article about shinrin-yoku, I'll send it to you, the scientific proof is quite fascinating.” 

Mondatta raises his eyebrows as the bell above the pavilion tolls, summoning him to his feet. “Your pronunciation is very good. Has our friend been tutoring you again?” 

Zenyatta pauses before lifting himself into the manual wheelchair behind him, shooting daggers at his brother. “Stop.” 

He chuckles, tucking the manuscript under his arm and pinching their cups between his fingers as they head inside. “He replaced your light-up caster wheels as well, I see. How generous.” 

“Mondatta, I _swear-_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I frickin' love Zen and Mondatta's relationship but (once again) I've written. So. Little of it. I hope you enjoyed this little pre-Genyatta insight into them!   
> Also re: Zenyatta's reference: I feel like it's basically the law that if you turn a robot character human in an AU, they have to be a sci-fi fan. Mondatta is an exception, clearly.


	28. Too Much, Not Enough (Genji & Jesse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marijuana usage

“So,” Genji leans back against Jesse's fridge. “What's the advantage of eating it over smoking it?” 

“Well, with smoking you get this kinda going-up feeling, like when you get drunk.” Jesse opens the oven with one plaid mitt, slipping the small tray of brownies inside. “But with these, you wait thirty minutes and you're high as a mothefuckin' kite.” 

Genji nods slowly, as if digesting important information. “ _Nice._ ” 

They're an episode and a half into the show they're watching on Fareeha's steaming account before Jesse's prediction comes true. Genji looks properly, completely relaxed for the first time in the couple years Jesse's known him. “Oh, this is actually good shit. Damn.” 

“Told you I knew a guy,” Jesse chuckles, letting himself sink into the couch. Outside, the snow looks like it's blowing in two different directions, sticking to the screens behind his barely-closed windows. “The trick is to whip the batter real good.” 

“Your baking skills save the day again,” Genji giggles, limbs wrapped around one of the larger mismatched throw pillows. 

The show keeps them enthralled and laughing for a spell, episodes flowing into each other while the wind shudders and groans outside. Jesse pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around himself, the baseboard heaters drying the air more than heating it. Genji makes a surprised noise, as if suddenly remembering something. “Did you get those days off?” 

“Fuck yeah, had to fight for 'em though.” Jesse snorts, tapping the button on the remote to say yes, they are still watching, thanks so much. “Work every fuckin' holiday for three years, and I get treated like I'm askin' some big favour. Not like it's paid time off, kiss my ass.” 

“Why are all bosses such assholes?” 

“I've had the occasional nice one. But ninety percent of people can't be trusted with a fuckin' clipboard, that's a fact.” Jesse stretches out, popping his neck and resting his heels on the coffee table. “Fareeha's off this year, too. It'll be so nice to not have to rush in n' out.” 

“I bet,” Genji smiles halfway, settling against his side of the couch. “Zen's work is doing some kind of free dinner, I'll probably go help.” 

“Oh, that's real nice.” Jesse hums, catching a glimpse of the man as he sits with eyes unfocused, mostly covered by an oversized pink hoodie. A thought slowly percolates in his mind and he lets it fall out. “Hey, why don't y'come up with me? Your last exam's tomorrow, right?” 

Genji scrunches his brows together when he looks at him. “To your family's Christmas dinner? I don't think so.” 

“Aw, come on. Gabe likes ya, and Jack loves having more people to feed.” 

Genji props his head on his elbow with a huff. “Don't pity-invite me, I'm not that pathetic.” 

Jesse closes his mouth before he can form a rebuttal. “Shit. I didn't mean it like that, honest. I just-” He fumbles with his thoughts, not clear-headed enough to suss out whether it's a good or bad moment. “I know what it's like to be the only one left, y'know? Ain't about Christmas or whatever, s'about not feeling lonely just because the rest of the world says y'should.” 

Genji stares in silence for a long time, but there's something flickering in his glassy eyes that keeps Jesse disengaged from the colourful cartoons on his old TV. “Actually, I'm not the only one.” 

“Ah, yeah,” Jesse clicks his tongue. “But blood don't count for much. Those fuckers sure aren't sending ya any New Year's cards, are they?” 

“Pft, no.” Genji almost laughs, then scratches at his stubbly neck, speaking after a pause. “I have an older brother. He's over here, too.” 

A light turns on in the fog of Jesse's head. “Come again?” 

“At least, I think he's over here. That's what his plane tickets said.” Jesse spots Genji's toes wiggling in his sock. The words spill over each other, more typical of his friend, who seems to host some kind of perpetual motion machine in his brain. “He was the one driving when this-” Genji waves towards his general self. “-Happened. He left before I woke up, I don't know if he was avoiding charges or what.” 

“Goddamn,” is the most intelligent response Jesse can offer. He wants to pour himself a drink, but thinks better of it. “You, uh- any reason why y'never told me this sober?” 

“I didn't know how to bring it up,” Genji laughs, almost abashed as he plays with the zipper on his sweater. “I've been looking for him since I got here, but- he could be using a different name. He could be in a completely different country. He could be dead. I have no fucking idea.” 

“Were y'close, like?” 

“When we were young, yeah. He was- we were like this,” Genji holds up his hand, fingers crossed. “All the time. But we grew up and he- cared about different things. He had to, but I didn't.” He wets his lips before continuing. “The rest of them tried to tell me he did it on purpose, but nothing about that makes sense. He didn't hate me that much.” 

Jesse shifts under his blanket, itching for a smoke. “Was he drunk?” 

“No, well- he'd had a few, but like, all the men in our family basically kept a low buzz going all day, every day. It was normal. Surprised they fucking make it to old age, I definitely wasn't going to. I just- I don't know. That's really the most I can say, I don't know.” 

Jesse hums again, trying to picture this mystery brother but coming up with a big question mark in his head. He's always had the closure of knowing the people he once called family are dead for a hundred-percent sure. Hell, he watched a few of them go down himself. Even if he doesn't know how or why for some of them, to sit and imagine for month after month after month of hoping, with no answers- it honestly sounds worse. “If and when y'do find him, what are y'gonna do?” 

Stupid question, but Genji just snickers and leans back instead of biting his head off. Progress from when they first met, that's for damn sure. “Well, my original plan was to punch him in the mouth as hard as I could, and keep hitting him until I felt better. Now- I just want some fucking answers, that's all.” 

The pain in Genji's eyes is silently visceral, like a little switchblade between Jesse's ribs. There sure as hell isn't a greeting card for this situation. His friend laughs again, hollow, with his arms folded around his knees. “After our father died, I came back from a three-day bender and ignored him, shut my door in his face. He kicked it open just to tell me that he'd cut me off if he could, because I was a waste of everyone's time and wasn't worth a pack of gum, basically.” 

Jesse whistles low. “Y'sure y'wanna find this asshole?” 

“His name is Hanzo.” Genji answers reflexively, hurrying on. “Besides, I told him to drop dead because I'd rather be an only child than deal with his bullshit, and that's paraphrasing.” He drags both hands through his black hair, digging his nails into his scalp. “Maybe he wanted to grant my wish, who the fuck knows.” 

Jesse's mouth pulls to one side, he reaches for his friend but Genji's eyes flash dangerously. Only for a moment, then he lurches forward and crams another brownie into his craw. Jesse leaves his arm on the couch like that's what he meant to do all along. “Why don't y'crash here for the night?” 

“Can't, got an eight a.m.,” Genji mumbles around a full mouth. 

“I'll drive y'to work. Gonna need more rest if y'wanna get rid of those raccoon eyes.” 

Genji flips him off, but looks away as he swallows. “As long as you don't mind.” 

“Not a bit, but I get the bed.” 

Jesse passes Genji's snoring form in the morning, disappeared under the quilt he'd thrown over him when he returned from the bathroom the previous night to find him curled into a ball, already asleep. The bacon's sizzling by the time the guy's alarm goes off, Jesse calling over his shoulder. “Mouthwash is under the sink.” 

Genji groans his thanks, stumbling back in on his forearm crutches a few minutes later. Jesse passes him a plate of omelette, bacon, and well-buttered toast (he's on a budget but he does not allow margarine in his fridge, nuh-uh), turning back to salt and pepper his own plate. “Eat up, we can stop at your place or I can lend ya something to wear. I know your profs don't care, but changing outta last night's clothes goes a mile in improving your day, in my experience.” 

Genji squints at him as he sits, still in denial about his need for glasses despite Jesse frequently calling bullshit. “Why are you so much more considerate than anyone I ever fucked?” 

Jesse snorts, shoving the orange juice towards him. “Love ya too, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this was sad!   
> But good news, on the list of things I'm Not Writing is all the vicious stuff Hanzo and Genji said to each other when things were Bad. Nope nope nope, no thank you sir. Suffice to say it was awful and they've talked it all through since, wasn't easy but they got through it  
> Also this is so not the last time Jesse and Genji bake pot brownies, the boys like to relax


	29. Come Up (Shimada Brothers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to the negative/abusive side of Hanzo and Genji's youth, nothing graphic, discussion of grief

“You're not actually going to wear that, are you?” 

“Of course I am, it's your graduation.” Hanzo insists, shouldering the dry cleaner bag containing his good suit as they step out into the blinding afternoon sun. 

“And it's going to be thirty-five in the shade,” Genji looks over his prescription sunglasses at his brother as they head towards to the bus stop. “I've told you how bad the aircon sucks in there. I'm wearing as little under that gown as I can legally get away with.” 

“That's your prerogative,” Hanzo tuts, in that particular unbudgable way of his. “But you've spent a lot of time on this degree and it deserves to be celebrated properly. We can't all dress like a fluorescent nightmare, you know.” 

Genji just shakes his head and pulls out his bus pass. “How very you of you.” 

The next day, Genji will pick up his very expensive piece of paper and alumni freebies, take too many photos, and probably make a spectacle of himself at the barbecue Angela and the rest of their friends are throwing for him at her place. Today, he helps his brother fix some bug in his accounting software and proceeds to steal the love of his dogs. 

“Are you getting any awards?” Hanzo asks, tablet pen between his teeth while he finishes something. 

“Nah, part-timers like me don't qualify for most- get the ball! Get the ball! That's my girl!” Genji gleefully plants kisses all over the straw-coloured muzzle of their poodle-daschund-etc. mix, Lady. “My transcript says Dean's list, but I think that's an error.” 

“What? Let me see it.” Hanzo, being Hanzo, doesn't quit bugging him until he gets up, logs into his school account, and tosses him his phone. He does math while Genji resumes his sprawl on the floor, bringing up one knee to block Den from stomping on his family jewels again. “What counts for Dean's list?” 

“Three-point-five or above- ugh! Not up my nose!” 

“Genji, your GPA is three-point-five.” 

“Oh shit, snuck right under the wire, didn't I?” 

“Genji, that's very good. You should be proud of yourself!” Hanzo sounds as exasperated as he is pleased. He shuts down his tablet and stands abruptly. “Come on, I'm taking you out.” 

“From a distance, or for dinner?” 

Hanzo smirks down at him, his face upside-down in his vision. “Your choice, my treat.” 

Jesse's out at a string of appointments, so they end up at the tiniest table in a corner of an Irish-style pub that serves fries in metal buckets. They've got good stuff on tap, and Genji hasn't cracked open his pain pills in six months (fingers crossed, his longest streak yet). The place is crowded enough that they aren't hesitant to order another round and get laughing. Hangovers had gotten much, much worse since he passed thirty-five, but they're only tipsy. 

He likes hanging out with just Hanzo, sometimes. He likes how easy he laughs now, how he's stopped leaving social gatherings early and saying how boring he is, because he isn't. No one could tell a story about learning to drive and getting the sex talk at the same time the way he's telling it. 

“And he finishes it off with-” Hanzo clears his throat to continue his spot-on impression of their father's voice, down to his theatrical cadence and nicotine growl. “'Never ask a woman to do anything you wouldn't do for her in turn. Men who do that are pigs, and I expect better from you.'” 

“Oh my god,” Genji wheezes, his fingers pressed to his temples, frozen in weeping anticipation. “And then what?” 

“Then I white-knuckled it back down that awful dirt road and went into town for lunch. We ate in complete silence.” They both crack up, Genji smacking the table while Hanzo wipes his eyes. “Did you really not get that at all?” 

“The terrible driving lessons, yes. Not the other thing.” Genji takes his glasses off to clean them uselessly on his shirt. “I wonder why? Did he think you were going to fill me in?” 

Hanzo snorts, pouring more vinegar on his fries, the monster. “Maybe he didn't bother because you became sexually active at fourteen.” 

“Fifteen, excuse you.” Genji sticks his tongue out, then sighs a bit. Talking about the past is much easier now, but the ache remains, like a calcified spot on his heart. “Tou-san was weird about a lot of stuff, honestly.” 

Hanzo makes a curious noise, his mouth full, and Genji continues, shifting in the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Like calling me 'little sparrow.' At no point was I bird-like, you remember, I was a chubby-ass baby. I had those thigh rolls.” 

“Yes, and very pinch-able cheeks.” 

“I still have those, according to Zen, just in a different location.” 

Hanzo snorts and sips his whisky. “For fuck's sake, Genji.” 

“He isn't wrong,” Genji grins broadly, tipping his bottle to his lips. “Seriously though, weird nickname for your kid.” 

“Well, it's what they called his brother. Perhaps you resembled him.” 

Genji sets his beer down and blinks. “Sorry, what the hell did you just say?” 

“It was his brother's nickname,” Hanzo clarifies, sweeping up some ketchup with a half-burned fry. 

“I heard you- what brother? He was an only child.” 

“Did he- I thought he told you,” Hanzo's jaw tightens as he rests his elbows on the table, drink tight in his hand. “He had a younger brother, I think he was- maybe three years old? He died of pneumonia or something. Obaa-san wouldn't let anyone talk about it. He never even said his real name around me.” He swallows more liquor, throat bobbing in the low light of the pub. “I always meant to go look at the family plot, but I never got around to it. I suppose it doesn't matter now.” 

“What _did_ he say about him, then?” 

Hanzo shrugs, drawing his arms tighter and looking out over the bar. “Not much, except to remind me that what you loved most could be taken away in an instant if you weren't more careful.” 

He doesn't need to continue the impression for Genji to hear those words in their father's voice. He's quiet as they finish slaking their thirst, as Hanzo elbows in front of him to pay both their tabs, as they walk out into the stale city night air. 

Hanzo wouldn't have had to work half as hard to get a four-point-oh, he was born smart, made smart. But when he doesn't know what to do, he keeps trying until he gets a reaction, good or bad. Genji can see the scramble behind his cool eyes, understands the urge to throw everything at the wall until something lands right, so it doesn't make him mad. 

“I'm sorry, I thought he told you.” The metal zipper on Hanzo's bag chatters like an ice skate when he zips it up too fast. “He was very protective of you, you know that. He hated to see you upset. Obaa-san wouldn't even put his photo up for Obon, so it's not like there was anything to gain from dredging up the past.” Plastic cups crack under their sneakers, some trash blown in from the road by the hot winds. “Maybe he didn't want to scare you. You were still wetting the bed when he first told me.” Hanzo's forced laugh is whited out by the sputtering groan of a passing truck. “Don't feel resentful. He was so close to you, I'm sure-” 

Except when it does. 

“No, he _wasn't!_ ” Genji turns and roars, the empty skeleton of a building development behind them amplifying his shout. “He never told me half of what he told you! He treated me like a toddler, like I was too- fragile to handle the things he forced onto you! And if that's the reason why-” 

Genji's hands are vibrating. Growing up and watching Hanzo be punished for something they both did, for Genji's early mistakes and later brazen rebellion left a scar of cognitive dissonance he's only recently closed, accepting that his father was an imperfect man who played favourites when he never should have. If it had nothing to do with who he was, if it was all his father projecting his own arrested grief- 

“I never got to have a single adult conversation with him, and I never will! And don't you fucking stand there and act like that's some kind of _privilege_!” 

Hanzo's face is frozen and blank, like a shelf of snow. Genji threads his hands through his hair and paces a few feet away. A group of college students cross the street to avoid them. Yelling in Japanese at least keeps their personal business out of the street, but doesn't help make him look like less of a lunatic. 

He hates that he still has these moments. Sudden bursts of rawness, senselessly exposed old nerves, where what he earnestly wants to do is kick and punch and bawl like a child. He can feel exactly how much he's pissing someone off and still can't seem to stop himself. Genji jams his hands in the pockets of his shorts and begins to walk towards Hanzo's place. Like he deserves a free ride home right now? Fuck. “I'm sorry, we'll talk tomorrow. Let's just-” 

“Wait,” Hanzo halts them after half a block. The cool yellow glow of a twenty-four hour doughnut shop painting them in unflattering chiaroscuro. “I'll only be a second, wait here.” 

Genji parks himself against the brick wall away from parked cars, eyes glued to the pavement as they continue to burn. He has to go back to work on Monday, to the job that's kind of what he went to school for and pretty alright but really precarious, though not more so than Hanzo or Hana's jobs. He's supposed to start researching foster care and adoption with his husband this weekend. Hanzo's nearly forty and he's not far behind, but he's still. Fucking. Acting this way. 

Zenyatta can brush his tears away and hold him close for a million more nights. Tell him that feeling things so deeply is a great gift, even when it doesn't feel like one. Remind him that queer folks and abuse survivors both often experienced a delayed adolescence, and that feeling young isn't an inherently bad thing. But the truth is he's played right into it. He'll always be the youngest, the _baby, _the one that never gets taken seriously, even by his own parents, let alone-__

__The door swings open and Hanzo's metal legs appear in his vision. He looks up to find his face still neutral and a purple-drenched muffin held out to him. He assumed he was going in for a piss. The kindness of the gestures lands like cough syrup on his tongue. “What the hell did you buy me this for?”_ _

__“I thought you liked the blueberry ones,” Hanzo's prominent brows knit together in confusion, his other hand clutching a double chocolate muffin. “Do you want mine instead?”_ _

__“That's not-” Genji flaps his hand and grabs the muffin in a weird fit, like a sneeze of frustration. “Can you please just fucking yell at me, for old time's sake?”_ _

__Hanzo's lips twitch, not quite smiling as they find their way along the uneven side-street sidewalk. “I shouldn't have upset you, I'm sorry.”_ _

__“It's not your fault.” Genji tears off a chunk of preservative-filled bread and chomps it down. Hanzo had yet to name his experiences as such, though their extended family's treatment of him hit several of the more typical bullet points. As stubborn as he is, he's still the first to take the blame, to exclude himself for any number of faults real and perceived, and he'll put Genji's immature tears over his own rightful anger. “This shit's never been your fault.”_ _

__If Tou-san had tried to mould Genji into the image of some nameless ghost, he had recreated himself perfectly in Hanzo. Some days it leaves Genji so angry he can't speak, for fear of opening his mouth and ruining everything he worked so hard to hold onto. That they weren't protected the way they should have been, that neither Sojiro nor Taeko ever opened their eyes and stepped off the path set for them, that he turned around and let what happen to him happen to his firstborn and thought it was okay. Hanzo's diligent recreation of the previous generations' mistakes was no small source of pain, either._ _

__A fragment drifts back to him from one of his many class readings, a transcribed discussion of how everything in life is supposedly an act of survival or an act to preserve future generations, more essentially an act of creation._ _

__“I shouldn't have said anything,” Hanzo continues, pale brown eyes ringed with guilt as they walk on, past lit-up pharmacies and darkened townhouses. “I didn't think it would be so hurtful to you.”_ _

__“It's not even- I'm not sure what made me go off like that-” Genji pauses, swallows another messy hunk of pastry before lightly punching his palm. “Actually, I kind of do. I forgot to take my meds today.”_ _

__“Again?” Hanzo clicks his tongue, never turning off the obnoxious switch for long. “Do you need one of those plastic containers with the days of the week?”_ _

__“I have one, thanks.” Genji snorts and clips their bare elbows together. “What about you, hm? Did you take your meds?”_ _

__“I take them in the evening.”_ _

__“It is evening.”_ _

__Hanzo's eyes narrow. “I'll take them when we get home.”_ _

__“Yeah, you better.” Genji barely dodges the swipe at him, his grin returning for a moment. He crams the last of the muffin into his mouth, gulping all the sweetness away as the faded ink of their shoulders brush. He scrunches the wrapper in his hand, evidence of Hanzo's preserving impulse. Despite their youth, despite the quirks of his mind that made connections difficult, despite everything- he had hung onto that. Resisted multiple attempts at smothering it, and so it remained, eventually returning him as best it could to who he once was._ _

__Their father had not been so lucky, but Genji still loves him, still misses him, and he still looks up to his big brother (Even though there's a solid inch between them now, and yes, he will cling to that handful of centimetres until the day he dies)._ _

__“I'm so sorry for tearing into you like that. That was stupid and I don't even have a good reason.”_ _

__“It's alright.” Hanzo's arm comes around his shoulders, pulling him in for an awkward sibling side-hug, but doesn't let go. “I'm proud of you. Not just because of tomorrow. You're a good man.”_ _

__Genji laughs, half-delirious as fresh tears fall. He mops them with his knuckles, not caring what passing strangers might think because Hanzo is so serious it's a weird kind of funny. The words come out formal, like he's acting, but his intense face is way too sincere, and Genji knows better besides._ _

__His throat stays tight and reedy as they approach Hanzo and Jesse's quaint-ass little one-story house. It's dark but for the TV flashing into the kitchen, distorted by the frosted glass panels above the sink. “I still miss them, I hate that they're not here.”_ _

__Hanzo's eyes shine in the corner of his vision, the streetlight above them flickering slightly as his fingers press gently into Genji's hair. “I know.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was also sad! I promise the last two chapters will be happy, I just wanted to bookend these two sad ones together   
> This originally just sprouted out of me wanting to bring up that Genji's not just at uni indefinitely, he does graduate! Double major in professional writing and mythology & folklore, the nerd. Then it became kind of a 'deleted scene' that doesn't mesh well into any bigger fic but I did want to get into at some point.   
> Also gradually inching some of these stories past Jesse and Hanzo's wedding in the timeline. Much love to everyone who sticks around through my chronology jumping, I hope it's enjoyable and still makes sense!


	30. Lazy Sunday (Reindatta)

_“And we're here today with Tekhartha Mondatta, leader of the Shambali. We opened questions up to our listeners and they're very curious about the man behind the myth. Can you give us some insight into your everyday life? What does someone such as yourself do in his off-hours?”_

_“Oh, that's an easy question. I'm very ordinary, there's nothing special about my life.”_

_“Aha, an expected response! But sincerely, how does the face of the movement spend his time?”_

_“Sincerely, I'm not unique in the slightest. That which others might find interesting is already out in the world for all to see, there is nothing else worth noting. What other questions does your audience have?”_

*** 

Mondatta awakes in the dark of the morning, a pain drawing him to full alertness as he sits up. “Good heavens- what did I do to my shoulder? All I did was sleep.” 

“Middle age is well and truly upon us, brother.” Jyoti drawls as they dress on their side of the bed. 

“So it is,” Mondatta winces, rolling his arm as the joint goes _crunch-crunch-crunch._ “Still, I prefer it to being young.” 

“You would.” Jyoti smiles that wispy smile of theirs, coming around and extending a hand to help Mondatta up off the low mattress. It's an artifact of his recovery, when his wounds left him weak and limited in his motions, but he's never been able to refuse his friend's kindness. 

He wraps himself in clean robes and grabs a towel on his way to the showers. Despite their modest space, their group always manages to negotiate it well. Mondatta prefers to wash on first waking, soap clearing away the grime of sleep, cool water sluicing over flowering scars while he scrubs the softness of his chest. So long as dreams do not chase him from rest, and they rarely do now, his mind remains pleasantly blank until they all meet in the pavilion at the bell's toll. 

Mondatta leads their chanting, but quickly they become one in the Iris' embrace. He can feel it with every pulse of his heart, the energy that joins the entirety of their world, that pulses out through all the known universe, that which _is._ In the dawn hours, he is able to step apart from the limits of his body and the distorted paths his neurons have formed over his life, to see all creation as one might see a stretch of the ocean. Without beginning or end, uncountable ripples coming together, forever pressing forward into the unknown. 

Even still, it is a blessing to return to awareness of his body, this temporary gift of flesh that lets him walk and talk and kiss a good morning to his dear husband's lips. 

“There was a sale on flour, so I started on the pancakes early!” Reinhardt beams, one massive hand on Mondatta's back and the other handling a frying pan. “Help yourselves, friends, I'm nearly done.” 

“Thank you, Reinhardt! Your pancakes are the best,” Shing rushes forward first, happily scooping up a plate nearly dripping with butter. How he spoils them. “You should have been a chef!” 

The man laughs and soon joins them at the table, at Mondatta's left with Jyoti on his right. Genji once joked about them being like _Madeline_ but the rest take their seats without any such order. They are far from silent, meals always full of chatter that warms his heart. 

“Will you be going out today, liebling?” Reinhardt addresses him in German, one of the languages Mondatta has mastered with no small degree of practice. 

“Not today, will you?” 

“Ah, I think not,” Reinhardt sips the coffee, brewed in his cottage up the way prior to letting himself in (they aren't anti-caffeine in theory, but avoid it in practice). “I've been meaning to get a few things done- it's always the little things that pile up and nag at you.” 

“By all means, put an end to their nagging,” Mondatta smiles up at him. Reinhardt officially retired not so long ago, having withdrawn from service at his leisure rather than be discharged, which was a shock to everyone but Mondatta. He is much happier to see him fill his hours with good works at home, rather than dangerous ones abroad. Save the duty of guarding his body, though the risk of that occupation has decreased significantly. His other body guard, Alexander, claims the job is making him soft. 

After washing up comes exercise, stretches and Tai Chi in one of the larger halls in the cooler months. Today, the little summer has warmed the air enough that they take it outside. A few had learned martial arts prior to joining, and teach the interested younger ones with aplomb. Mondatta is simply grateful for the opportunity to move freely, because today he must organize his calendar rather than retreat to their well-stocked library with the others for study. 

“There, that is doable.” Mondatta passes his tablet back to Ditya, having tapped around in his email for the better part of a half-hour. He keeps a private one to which Ditya forwards the necessary messages from his public one. Managing it is nearly a full-time job, and it pains him to turn down genuine requests for help. They are ultimately only a few more drops in the ocean, no more capable than anyone else. Still, it never seems enough. “How is it today?” 

“Not so bad,” Ditya replies from behind the small laptop. They sip tea at the kitchen table, the elaborate windchimes Reinhardt has hung outside adding a pleasant layer of background noise. “Last years' finances have been updated on our website, correct?” 

“Yes, Yungchen took care of that.” Mondatta's eyes flick up from his notebook, a scrawl of ideas that sometimes come to fruition and sometimes die peaceful deaths within its pages. “Is someone questioning them?” 

“No, I'm merely quashing another conspiracy theory.” 

“What is it this time?” 

Ditya sighs, her black eyes resigned. “Some group claiming we're a front to fund a human trafficking operation.” 

“Oh, for the love of-” 

“See, this is why I don't tell you these things. You get all upset and waste your time on irrelevancies.” 

“I do not get all anything.” 

There's only the slightest tinge of petulance in his words, but still she levels her favourite glare at him and returns to rapid clicking and typing. The older woman is allowed to ignore him, his trust in her deeper than in himself. If there is something significant, she will share it, and he is grateful for her skilled part in shouldering the load of their work. 

Any remaining urge to pester is interrupted by Jyoti entering with a basket of eggs, a set jaw, and a bleeding hand. “Those damned birds mauled me again.” 

“We really need to talk about your relationship with the chickens,” Ditya remarks coolly while Mondatta hurries off to fetch the first aid kit. 

Lunch is greens and soup, some purchased and some grown. Talk is more focused, regarding their upcoming participation in a local protest. Mondatta is glad to be able to attend this one, the other monks seem uncertain without him, a troubling thought for several reasons. 

“Sometimes I worry it's all just theatre, you know?” Pema interjects at one point, her statue-like features drawn tight. “Progress seems so slow, do things like die-ins and sign-waving truly make any difference?” 

“We haven't even gotten arrested since coming here,” Bishal adds, half-murmuring into his hand. “It's a little boring, honestly.” 

“But there's a lot to be said for visibility!” Nawang pipes up. “It's hard for anyone to ignore what's right in front of their faces, and it's not like quiet dissent has ever accomplished anything.” 

“I agree, brother,” Mondatta nods, accepting the napkin passed to him by his husband and blotting the spilled soup from his front. “The authors of change cannot be mute.” 

The monks descend into side conversations, save Tshering, who draws a laugh with the humour in her musical voice. “Is that a first or second draft remark, brother?” 

Mondatta chuckles, glad to laugh at his own expense so long as it's not his brother taking swipes at him. “We can't all be masters of improvisation, now can we?” 

The near-balmy afternoon sun sets the monastery bustling, wrapping up outdoor maintenance and mopping with the windows open before the temperature drops again. Mondatta somewhat understands the commercial fetishization of autumn when he looks out over their back garden, crops spilling over the small rabbit-fence and the forest exploding into primary colours behind it. He ties back his sleeves and gets to weeding. Last year's pumpkin seeds are performing admirably, flags with each member of their household's handwriting planted beside each one. He suspects a certain competitive urge in some, but there is a deep satisfaction to be found in nurturing a project all one's own. His seems a bit lopsided, but it will surely taste good all the same. 

“Don't get sunstroke now, love,” Reinhardt claps a wide-brimmed straw hat to his head. His watering can sprays cold water everywhere, darkening the leaves and dirt. The foot he steps inside the rows to reach the middle plants is as light as that of a mouse. 

“You are so convinced that I'm delicate,” Mondatta pulls a frown, not entirely meaning it, as his skin was beginning to dampen uncomfortably. “How can I change your mind?” 

“Hm, let me think.” Reinhardt taps his chin, his white beard glowing in the glare of the sun. “Ah, I know! Try making it through a flight without medicine and soda crackers.” 

“I most certainly won't,” Mondatta replies grimly as Reinhardt laughs low and teasing. 

Tenzing and Sita approach with a basket for the corn, which has ripened early. Mondatta sits back on his heels and looks back towards the monastery. Shing is on the roof, cleaning out the gutters with something between gusto and revulsion, Tshering spotting her. The screen doors have been thrown open, showing the others hurrying to and fro, in pairs and threes, laughing or debating animatedly. Fondness draws up in his chest as if from an infinite well. He longs for the words to fully express how proud he is of their family, but they do not exist. 

“Aw, mine's turned out so small.” Sita pouts over her admittedly runty pumpkin, patting its side as if to encourage it. “Maybe we can use it for a jack-o-lantern next month! Yungchen said she'll get sweets this time so the little ones will come by again. I'm really excited!” 

“I didn't know you were such a fan of Halloween!” Reinhardt reaches down to rub Mondatta's bare shoulder, an unconscious but much-appreciated gesture. 

“Oh, I think it's great!” Sita's hands clap together, Mondatta's eyes still on the group of monks trying to toss sheets over the clothesline without dropping them in the grass. “It's the only holiday here that encourages people to walk towards what they fear most, and confront death as something neutral and chaotic, rather than simply ignoring it.” 

Tenzing's strangled noise makes Mondatta's shoulders shake with amusement. “Sister, could you please lighten up a little?” 

More amusing is the sound of his phone going off during the dinnertime prayer, at least to everyone but him. He finishes and checks it with the mind to figure out how to turn on the do-not-disturb function save for phone calls. 

**ZT:** Sorry I couldn't make it tonight, bit of a long day -w-;; Genji's taking me out for pizza, so it isn't all bad. 

**MT:** How nice. Is everything alright? 

**ZT:** Yes, just the usual, don't worry so much. Love you  <3! 

**MT:** Love you too, don't do anything I wouldn't do. Good night. 

He gets into a discussion about his speech at the equality summit this coming week, adding a few notes from the others into his book as edits for tomorrow, finding one last message from Zenyatta after he helps clear the table. 

**ZT:** Ah, what a shame. I was hoping to have fun and relax, but now I guess not ^-^! Good night!~ 

“Little Zenyatta playing the comedian again?” 

“You are correct.” Mondatta's eyebrow twitches as Reinhardt drops a kiss to his crown. He taps Nawang's shoulder as he passes. “I know the chore wheel isn't to be interfered with, but do you mind if I help you dry? I have some frustration to work out.” 

The autumn chill seems to be returning as the sun sets. The censers sway noisily in the breeze, incense smoke getting whisked away while he focuses on the cool push of mala beads through his fingers. The length of evening prayer necessitates cushions, especially since most of their members have passed out of their twenties. Plastic frames shield photos of loved ones on the altar. All of them missed, not all of them dead, though some might view the monks missing them as such. 

Jyoti waits for him in the shade of the courtyard doorway, as they always do, green eyes shining out from beneath heavy brows. “Might we have tea together tomorrow? I've been puzzling over a philosophical question, and I feel just adamant enough in my viewpoint to challenge whatever yours may be.” 

“Of course, always.” Mondatta laughs lightly, their shared smile easing the odd tiredness in his temples as they tenderly brush foreheads. Their kiss one of the uncomplicated, steadfast things he's come to rely on. “Good night, rest well.” 

Jyoti's knowing mirth seems to inhabit the whole of their coltish frame. “The same to you.” 

Mondatta departs across the dirt path of the courtyard, hands folded behind his back as he hums. The breeze across the small hill separating the monastery and Reinhardt's home sends a zap through his muscles. He is excessively sleepy for no particular reason, perhaps preemptively tired if such a thing is possible, the cold perpetuating the aches of old injuries. Reinhardt is reclined in his favourite chair, laughing on the phone, oddly soft and subdued, though he waves as Mondatta enters. A contrast to the minimalism mere metres away, Reinhardt's surfaces are covered in odds and ends and stained with crayon, though crafted with the same care as the monastery. Including the gloriously soft, king-sized bed. 

Mondatta drops face-down atop the sheets, sinking in and releasing his name to the nothingness. He is not a leader, a role model, or any sort of icon in this moment, he is simply a human with a body that beckons for relief and rest. 

He must nod off, because the next thing he knows is Reinhardt's hand kneading his neck with such gentleness that nearly draws tears. “You don't need to- _mmm._ ” 

“Let me take care of you, my dear,” he soothes with a voice saved only for him. The kindly tone that had been enough to set his heart ablaze years and years ago. “I was talking with Ana, she says hello.” 

“Oh, how wonderful.” Mondatta mumbles into the pillows, allowing himself to melt as Reinhardt's other hand comes into play on his back. “When- is she coming to visit next?” 

“Hard to say, she is a busy woman.” Reinhardt chuckles, mostly to himself. “Told me she fears irrelevance more than any other thing.” 

“Hmm, then she has nothing to fear.” Mondatta savours the peaceful quiet between them, lets his robes be pulled away and the covers drawn over him. He twitches up when he feels the weight of the man lift off the mattress, nearly sleep already. “Where are you going?” 

“Only to put out the light,” Reinhardt's voice is cheeky, but his smile is fond. He's already in flannels and bare chest, both of which are warm and perfect to cuddle up to once he joins Mondatta in bed. Drawing him up so carefully for a lingering kiss and laying him so that his heartbeat is right beneath his ear. “How sweet you are, I'd keep you right here all day if I could.” 

Mondatta smiles, eyes and limbs heavy. “And I would gladly stay, if I could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, little late with this one!! We're nearly there folks, hang in for one more chapter!   
> This is was super self-indulgent re: the tiny canoe that is Reindatta and my love for the Shambali, hope you enjoyed this soft little interlude before spooky day   
> I do plan to write more Shambali and explore the relationships therein (primarily Reindatta as well as Mon and Zen), Jyoti and Mondatta's relationship came out of me challenging myself to write a relationship dynamic that is loving, committed, intimate, and sexual without being romantic. It's been and will be interesting to play with, I think. And yep, Mondatta is poly, that took a loooong time to happen but he's now the point of a V much like Hana


	31. October 31st (McHanzo)

“If it starts making that noise again, just give me a holler, alright?” Jesse calls back, crossing their neighbour's lawn with sleeves rolled up and a plastic bag slung on his elbow, waving to the grey-haired woman in the doorway. “I'll close the gate, not to worry. You take care now!” 

Hanzo accepts Mrs. Le's baked treats with lust in his eyes while Jesse unscrews the wrench attachment on his metal wrist. “Was it the fan belt?” 

“It was indeed,” Jesse ducks into their bedroom to set the attachment on the dresser, accepting the finely-crafted hand Hanzo passes back to him. “So romantic, holding my hand like that.” 

Hanzo rolls his eyes, cutting open a bag of mini chocolate bars with the good scissors. “No costume for you this year, hm?” 

“No, I've got one. Hold on a tick.” Jesse disappears into their room again, emerging with his hat donned and with his flannel shirt tied in the centre of his chest, posing all centrefold-like against the doorframe and batting his lashes. “I'm a sexy cowboy. This do it for ya, darlin'?” 

Hanzo looks him once over, and replies in a tone dryer than the Sahara. “Mm. Step on me, daddy.” 

Jesse snaps his ass good with a rolled up dishtowel, blocking his defensive blows to limited success. “You know what I'm serving you for dinner tomorrow? Divorce papers.” 

“Oh no, please don't,” Hanzo pouts ineffectively, one arm around Jesse's ribs and the other locked around his neck. “Most of the furniture is yours, you know how much going to Ikea upsets me.” 

“You're such a shit.” Jesse hauls him in for a kiss. “What're you gonna be, then?” 

Hanzo cocks his head, one hand on his chest and lays the smile on thick. “Yours, obviously.” 

Jesse sighs, pressing a series of smooches to his cheek until he's batted away. “Do you ever quit?” 

“No, why should I?” Hanzo pours the chocolates into a big mixing bowl and carries it outside. “You'll fill his water bowl, won't you?” 

Jesse snorts, undoing his shirt on his way to the canine captive in the laundry room. “'Course, can't let the baby go thirsty.” 

It's cold and bleary outside and they both have two sweaters on, but the neighbourhood kids are bent and determined to get their All Hallow's Eve dues, barely even shivering in their array of plastic costumes. 

“And what are you supposed to be?” 

“A plague doctor!” The child says enthusiastically, muffled behind a long-beaked mask which appears handmade. Points to the diligent parental figure standing at the foot of their driveway in a cloak, clutching a plastic scythe in one hand and a smartphone in the other. 

“Ah, very scary!” Hanzo grins, grabbing a fistful of candy and dropping it into the child's pillowcase. “Happy Halloween!” 

“Trick or treat!” The child shouts in gratitude, jogging dangerously down the steps and onward to more treats. 

Jesse laughs as Hanzo sits back in the porch swing, impressed that they could pronounce the name of their costume, being that young. An arm slides around his shoulders and he snuggles in. The jack-o-lanterns they had diligently carved flicker dangerously beside them, having been re-lit three times already, and the string of cloth ghosts rattles against their gutters. Between kids, he turns to nuzzle the warm fuzz of Hanzo's scalp, snickering when he notices. “Still got a little glitter here, honey.” 

“Oh god,” Hanzo scratches uselessly. “It might be embedded in my skin forever. I should sue the owner of that confetti gun.” 

“It's all part of it. Y'didn't have fun?” 

“I had fun, I was just confused.” Hanzo scoffs, rocking them gently, the chains creaking above them. “I also got hit with toast.” 

“Well, that was just bad aim. We'll sit in the back row next year.” Jesse chuckles, watching some tiny princesses shuffle up the sidewalk. Hanzo swears he's no good with kids, but he's nothing but sweet to the eager, grabby kids. “I snuck Fareeha into her first screening, and out of the house in the first place. Ana was some pissed, but 'Ree's loved it ever since.” 

“I could tell, she knew every line.” Hanzo snorts, breath fogging in the cold air. They hand out the last of the candy soon after, dumping a few extra into a Power Ranger's bag when the street looks relatively empty. 

Hanzo puts out the candles and porch light while Jesse releases Den from his penitence. He whine and pushes at him, pawing at his chest and angling for belly rubs. “I know, you wanted to lick every single one of their faces, I _know._ Life is so tough, huh? Isn't it?” 

“Do you want to do dessert or second dinner?” Hanzo leans around the corner to ask, snorting when Den sits and pricks up his too-big ears. “Not you, you already have love handles.” 

Jesse covers Den's ears in horror. “Do not talk shit to my son. We're all pudgy in this house.” 

“True, and that's very handsome on some of us,” Hanzo folds his arms, eyebrows up. “But some of us have mild hip dysplasia and the vet gives our owners shit for not helping them slim down.” 

Den does a polite little ruff, as though he's actually offended, then continues whining at Jesse. “Don't listen to him. Papa says you can have all the peanut butter you want.” He plants kisses on his sweet fluffy head. “Also dessert please, we gotta eat that clear out that fridge.” 

Jesse helps Hanzo clear out the kitchen sink, drying and talking about nothing and picking up his rings when Han knocks them off the counter three times, cursing as he does. They throw dessert in the oven, and Jesse takes a quick, hot soak in the shower. He returns to find Hanzo at his desk, already changed into the 'fuck you, I'm married' sweatpants Jesse had cuffed at the knees for him. “Are you working over there, honey?” 

“Only a little,” Hanzo smiles, halfway between guilty and mischievous. “I hit my second tier goal this month, so I opened a Q &A. I wanted to get a few answered before people think I'm ignoring them.” 

“I'm sure they wouldn't think that, you're a busy guy.” Jesse roughly towels his hair, he's been growing it out to almost-aging rock star length, wavering between leaving it or to hacking it off real short. “Any weird ones?” 

“No, aside from Genji being himself.” 

“Genji pledges to you? I didn't know that, that's goddamn adorable.” 

“I tried to get him to stop,” Hanzo tuts, tongue peeping over his bottom lip as he types. “But short of me committing actual credit card fraud, he won't.” 

“What a dick.” Jesse smiles and perches on the filing cabinet to rub Hanzo's arm and peer at the screen, noticing Hanzo's prosthetics tucked in the corner. “Legs botherin' ya?” 

“Little bit,” Hanzo stretches his back out, chest muscles flexing beneath his shirt. Goddamn. “I think it's the barometer or whatever, I'm just sore.” 

“Poor baby,” Jesse croons as the timer dings. Hanzo closes out of his multiple windows but makes no other movement. “You need me to carry you?” 

Hanzo hums in agreement, hoisting himself on Jesse's shoulders when he's lifted. They end up on the couch, Hanzo sitting sideways with his thighs across his husband's lap. Jesse gets a Halloween special pulled up and tucks his arm around Hanzo, who takes turnings feeding himself and Jesse from two slices of pumpkin pie with scoops of ice cream on top. “Every time you insist 'everyone's' seen something, I grow more convinced you're bullshitting me. This looks like five people saw this twenty years ago.” 

“No way! This is a cult classic, you just don't got any holiday spirit-” Jesse pauses when a forkful of vanilla bumps against his cheek. “Uh, y'missed, hon.” 

Hanzo turns back, fumbling for the tissue box atop the stack of papers behind them. “Shit-” 

“I got it. Den!” Jesse whistles, startling the mutt out of his bed. He races over and plants both paws on the couch. “C'mere, boy. There ya go, good pup!” 

Hanzo recoils slightly as Den washes Jesse's entire face. “I don't understand why you let him do that when he spends half the afternoon licking his empty ballsack.” 

Jesse purses his lips, the excitable dog leaping up and sprawling out on the couch beside them. “Wouldn't you, if you could?” 

Hanzo holds his stare for scarcely five seconds before breaking on a wheezing laugh. Jesse squeezes him tight, rewinding the show once they settle because no, this one has a plot this time, honest. They finish off their snack and, despite his earlier complaints, Hanzo lets Den lick the plate. “I don't think it was this clean when we bought the set.” 

“Such a good little vacuum, isn't he?” Jesse laughs as Hanzo ruffles Den's neck rolls, kissing his nose while he keen and mouths at his hands, eventually laying atop both of them as revenge. “Hey, what do you think about getting another dog? A smaller one, maybe.” 

“Hm, do you think he'd be okay?” Hanzo settles back against the cushions once Jesse frees his arm, the pup happy to use Hanzo's chest as a pillow. “He's pretty spoiled.” 

“Yeah, but I bet he'd like someone to play with. All our friends are cat people.” Jesse reaches over and strokes him, prompting a happy snuffle. “Seriously though, I don't mean like tomorrow, but maybe save up some, get a nice, laid-back sibling for him?” 

Hanzo chuckles, pulling his hair out of its elastic. He got it lopped to bob length recently and it's hot as hell. “It would be nice, to bring another one home, another little personality.” He scratches under Den's chin, eyes sweet and soft. “What do you think, hm? Will you mind sharing us?” 

Den licks his nose, then Hanzo's hand, then a firecracker pops off outside and his blue eyes go wide as saucers. He bolts, claws digging into them as he leaves. “Come back! It's just fireworks, you're okay!” 

“Aw, he's just gonna hide under the bed till they're done,” Jesse frowns. “Stupid ass kids. At least I didn't scare dogs, I just ran around drunk and vandalized shit.” 

“Clearly the better option.” Hanzo snickers, laying back with his arms snug around himself. He sighs as Jesse's fingers card through his hair, baby-soft with the grey spreading from his temples up to the top layers. His secondhand concert t-shirt rides up, exposing the softness of his belly that Jesse has to fight not to squeeze. His breathing slows and his eyes fall half-shut, but stay latched onto the screen, his warmth seeping into Jesse's lap as they watch in quiet amusement. 

Jesse feels Hanzo's fingers absentmindedly toying with one of his shirt buttons, fitting the painted nail of his thumb against the plastic edge, doing and undoing it without any intent. It brings a gentle smile to his lips, so pleased whenever Hanzo is relaxed enough to stim uninhibited. He scritches along the nape of his neck, gentle enough to make his spine arch just so. “Y'wanna head to bed after this, sugar?” 

“Mm, sounds good,” Hanzo hums, the exhibit-A of comfort. Den slowly returns, licking his chops nervously and laying in front of the couch, in case one of them wants to dole out some head-pets. The narration wraps up and the dated as hell credits music plays, prompting a snort from both of them, but they don't budge. 

Hanzo reaches up and takes his hand, pressing his lips to the palm and smiling up at him with so much love in his eyes, Jesse swears his throat closes over for a second. The bare branches rattle outside, a damp, aching chill just beyond their windows, but they pay it no mind. Jesse bends down, asking with his eyes and accepting the lazy, soft kisses Hanzo gladly offers him over and over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't not end this little side-quest on a kiss ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> You bet the gang went to a Rocky Horror midnight show, in tribute to my own recent first venture into that spectacular and spooky phenomenon (First midnight show with props, to clarify, not first time seeing the movie)   
> Also they're def watching The Halloween Tree, because Jesse strikes me as a Bradbury fan. He still cries when he reads All Summer in a Day. Also   
> Guys  
> Wow  
> My first Ink/Kinktober is ALL DONE and I can't tell you how much I've appreciated you all coming back day after day <3 Your sweet comments mean the world to me, and even if you just quietly enjoy these fluff-filled stories, that really makes it all worth it. It's been a lot of fun, and it's pushed me not to get bogged down the way I do with bigger stories, pushing forward because I have to hit 'post' every day. It felt so good to challenge myself and complete a goal, even a small one like this. It's also given me a newfound appreciation for webcomic artists and others who post content every single day because w h e w I've got other fics in the pipe, but it will be nice to take a little break;;   
> I hope everyone reading this is doing well, and that good things come into your life <3 Happy Halloween to all, and to all, a good night!


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